Unconventional Commitments
by cashew
Summary: “I can’t stand the idea of marriage, it’s like an allergy or something. It makes me uncomfortable, and then I start to itch, then my eyes water, and sometimes I sneeze.” Ginny has a bit of a commitment issue…can anyone sway her? HG. COMPLETE
1. One Sure Way To Ruin My Birthday

Unconventional Commitments

Chapter One  
One Sure Way to Ruin My Birthday

I tell myself to take a deep breath. Colin will not do this to me. Sure, he was in Gryffindor but no way does he possess bravery enough to go through with it.

This doesn't calm me. I can see it by that happy-nervous look on his face. Oh, God, he is going to propose. Shit. Colin is such an unbelievable git – how can he do this to me!? Things have been going…well, not great, but all right. Steady is a good word, I suppose. Why is he ruining it?

Dessert arrives and I place a strained smile on my face — this is not happening to me. I glance at my cake in suspicion – what if he told the cook to put it in the cake? I look around the room in distrust; they are all in on this. Everyone here is attempting to contribute to my downfall. It's a conspiracy, I tell you.

I look across the table to the sweating face of Colin Creevey. I have only stayed with him this long because I thought that he would never have the guts to kiss me, let alone propose. Come to think of it, we haven't even really kissed yet. I mean, we've kissed chastely, but nothing beyond. Three months and no sex: that has to be a record of some sort.

I think that his family is weirdly religious or something. Like, they don't believe in doing anything before marriage. I practically gasp, if he doesn't think that he can do anything (i.e. sex) before marriage, then that's all the more reason for him to want to get married! Oh, God. Why didn't I think of this before? Stupid, Ginny, stupid!

I push the dessert away from me with a sweet smile as if I'm not freaking out. "I'm actually not hungry."

He nods slowly and stands up, "Alright then."

I look on in horror as he gets down on one knee. He's seriously going to do it! Shit, I have to do something…anything…

"Ginny," he begins as the entire restaurant takes notice and several females sporadically burst into tears and how lucky I am. "I love you," he continues nasally, "and I will always love you. You were there when I took my first magical picture, you were there for everything and I know that you love me just as much as I love you. Will you marry me?"

I can't breathe. Somewhere in that inarticulate speech he had said _those _words — the words that every female supposedly longs to hear…not this female, though. God, I don't know what to do, the entire restaurant is just watching me, and Colin looks like a damn puppy dog with his pleading eyes…

"I, uh, I…" I can't marry him, I know that much. But public humiliation seems rather harsh. I mean, it can scar him for life. What if he ends up in therapy and all he tells his therapist is how this one horrible girl ruined his entire world and — Oh, God, this is going to turn him gay. He is going to hate women because of me and my rejection of his proposal. And then his family will turn against him because they are so weirdly religious and weirdly religious people are against homosexuality. And then his young life will tragically end because —

"Ginny," he whispers, "are you okay?"

My eyes dart around the room, women everywhere are swooning at the idea of a marriage proposal. Why couldn't this have happened to one of them instead? I stand up and place my napkin on the table. I have to get out of here…So I do the only thing that I can think of — I run.

I run straight past Colin and dart out of the restaurant with amazing speed. Once I am a safe distance away, I take a break; it's truly a miracle to be able to run in high heels. After panting for a few moments I settle for a brisk walk. I feel relieved and horrible at the same time.

I know it was cowardly and wrong to run, but I couldn't think of any other option. I can't stand the idea of marriage…it's like an allergy or something. It makes me uncomfortable, and then I start to itch, my eyes begin to water, and sometimes I sneeze. It an illness, I'm telling you. There should really be some sort of medicine or something to prescribe for it…but alas, there is not. So I'm stuck single for the rest of my days. Not that the thought of being single bothers me, it's a title I'm rather partial to actually.

It's not that I hate the concept of marriage per se…it's just that it isn't for me. Sure, it seems like a nice enough idea on the surface: you always have someone to hang out with, someone is always there for you, and there is someone to split the cost of living with. Great idea, right? Wrong. It seems great, but it is in fact a brilliant conspiracy invoked by men thousands of years ago. They make the idea of marriage seem pleasing, they find some innocent unsuspecting female to marry them, and then _bam_, the female is enslaved to the shudder-worthy term of wife.

She is the sole responsibility to everything. She is expected to have a job and then surrender half her pay to her husband. She is expected to cook, clean, do laundry, and any other domestic household chores that the husband can think up. And does she even get a thank you? No, because this is her sworn duty, she should do it happily and then wear sexy lingerie in attempts to lore her lazy husband into bed where she will initiate oral sex on a nightly basis, because women truly love giving oral sex, you know. Yeah, right.

And from there the factor of children enters in. Now, I like children, I really do. I'm always up for babysitting every now and then. But as for having children of my own…it's an even more thankless job than being a wife. The husband is not nearly as bad as the children. Now, I feel like a selfish cow and a horrible person, but if everyone was just taking and taking and taking…I would go absolutely mad.

I'm not particularly nurturing by nature anyway. If I had all these people depending on me I think it would just bear down on me until I did something drastic. Like run away. And I'm already running before I even getting to the wife part…so it appears that I am a hopeless cause.

I should really be put in some sort of scientific study. And here we have Single White Female Number Five. This particular female is of the most peculiar nature — she seems to seclude herself from excessive male attention. While she is not antisocial she will only spend a few days with one male. Let's dissect her and find out why she is so odd.

Sorry for being weird and gory by bringing in the dissection factor, but Hermione told me about this muggle science biology. It's just wrong, this biology, they take living things, kill them, and then take them apart just to see what's inside! That's what my father does with bloody radios and televisions, and they are doing it with live things.

Anyway, back to my extreme issue with commitment, one issue at a time now. I probably am a minority with this, as so many women get married and they seem perfectly fine with it. Minority or not, though, it doesn't change my feelings on marriage to see other people basking in the matrimony sunlight.

I get bored with guys after a few months of dating. To spend the rest of my life with one man, any man, would definitely bore me. You wake up, he's there. You eat breakfast, he's there. You go to work, have a few blissful hours without him, but then you come home, and he's there. You fix dinner, eat dinner, and he's there. You go to bed, he is still there. And then the whole thing starts over again.

It's just repetitive and the idea of the same person day in and day out…ten hours a day with one man for at least the next forty years of your life. That's over 134,400 hours with one person. Are you kidding me? How can you _not _desire to kill them after that long? Divorce is not encouraged in the Wizarding World, you marry it's for keeps. It's a huge step—a huge fall in my opinion.

I have been walking a good distance before I suddenly remember that my wand is in my purse. My purse that is currently slung overtop my shoulder...I feel unbelievably foolish that I haven't remembered it before. I have been walking for more than an hour…in stiletto heels that are giving me blisters with each step. Resisting the urge to just hit myself over the head for my stupidity, I take out my wand and prepare to apparate. But to where?

Normally, I would go to my apartment. But I share an apartment with Hermione…which is the same thing as sharing an apartment with Ron — can't get one without the other. And I am in no mood to see my brother, or to hear a lecture from Hermione on why one must confront one's fears head on.

And I can't go to the Burrow. My mother would flip if she knew that someone proposed to me and I rejected them. I'm twenty-three now, almost past the marrying age in her eyes. She almost has me written off as an old maid.

I then remember with a wash of self-pity that it is my birthday. It is my twenty-third birthday and I am alone on a strange looking street walking all alone. My feet are killing me, my shoes are most likely ruined, and my now ex-boyfriend had destroyed my week by issuing an unwanted proposal. Happy Bloody Birthday to me.

So I have the ability to go somewhere instantly, only I have nowhere to go. How perfect. I take another step before deciding that it doesn't matter where I go, I am getting off of this sidewalk and out of these shoes. After a moment of indecision I decide on the Three Broomsticks — Merlin knows I can use a drink…or ten.


	2. Loneliness is Better With Two

Unconventional Commitments

Chapter Two

Loneliness is Better with Two

I am pathetic…pathetic with a capital P. I am in a bar, on my birthday, sitting in a corner table by myself. I even had to pay for my own drink…it is here that I realize that my life is hell and fate does indeed have a cruel sense of humor.

Someone attempted to bind me to them on my birthday—how horrible is that? As a self-proclaimed ruler of all things my birthday has always been a very important event to me. Almost better than Christmas. And now, it was ruined. There would be no saving this birthday. Well, perhaps there would be a few ways…such as a gorgeous man falling on his knees before me and begging to buy me a drink and then he would—no, I tell myself quickly, no thinking of men. Men are what put me in this predicament in the first place…men and their clingy and possessive ways.

Where on earth did _anyone_ ever get the idea that marriage is a "woman" thing? Please, who is the one that proposes? Granted, with modern ways a few women propose, but for the most part, it is the men. If they don't want to be bloody married then they wouldn't very well ask. Men begin their quest for a wife the second that they leave home. They need someone to take the place of their mother, someone to pick up after them and take care of them. You know what, I want a wife. Not in a lesbian sort of way, just saying that I want someone to cook, clean, and take care of me. I can't blame men for searching for wives, I would too. But I do not want to be their slave. If I ever get married my husband will play the role of wife. And as that will never, ever happen it looks like I will not be getting married in this lifetime.

I think of my mother. She did absolutely _everything_ while I was growing up. And as soon as I hit the age of eleven—Hogwarts age—it seemed that I was viewed as old enough to "help out." Apparently, if one is responsible enough for school then they are responsible enough to be a damn slave. My brothers were coerced into simple outdoors work, where they would invoke little effort into their chores, and then play Quidditch somewhere that Mum couldn't see them. Since I was a girl, though (and the only girl at that) it was my duty to stay inside and help my mother with her duties. Every summer was wasted picking up after the pigs that had the audacity to call themselves my brothers. I've been playing the role of wife and mother forever; I finally escaped a few years ago, so I will not be making the mistake of being imprisoned again.

My eyes drift to the middle of the room. There seems to be something going on over there—something happy. Well, it's nice that someone can have a good time on my birthday…too bad it isn't me. Self-wallowing is one of my favorite pastimes, if you can't tell already.

I hear footsteps coming towards me but don't bother to turn around. Probably someone ugly—er, not that it matters if a person is ugly or not. Yes, beauty is on the inside an all that.

"How are you tonight?" a deep voice said.

"I'm all right," I mumble into my drink as I take another gulp. I will not turn around. I do not care who he is; I am not on the market. Those with commitment issues do not go looking for relationships. Kind of like people who live in glass houses shouldn't throw stones…same thing.

"All right," he repeats in an amused voice, "well that must make it difficult for you to function then. If you were 'all right' then you would have two right feet as well as two right hands."

At this I finally turn around, my mouth open in disbelief and disgust. That has to be the corniest and dumbest joke I have ever heard. "Smooth," I say before registering whom the voice belonged to. I knew it had sounded familiar. "But then you always were the quite the ladies man, Harry."

He smiles widely and pulls up the chair beside me, "I kind of liked the joke myself. Edith told it to me at work."

"Edith," I say, feeling suddenly bemused, "Edith as in your eighty-four year old secretary. Nice, Harry, you are getting your pick up lines off of an old woman. Hard to believe the girls just aren't flocking to you."

He shrugs, "I do what I can." He motions a waitress over and orders himself, as well as me, another drink. Well, there could be some advantages to meeting Harry here. "So what brings you to the alcoholic corner, Gin?"

"Alcoholic corner?" I ask feeling confused. But then again, multiple drinks will cause you to being easily confused.

"Yeah, if you watch people that come in here all the alcoholics make their way to this dark corner, where we are now, so they can drink alone and a lot without being bothered. Now, what is driving you to alcoholism?"

"Why do you care?"

"Because your mother would kill me if I let you get piss drunk alone. You could be raped you know." I roll my eyes and feel a blush creep to my cheeks; he has evidently heard my mother's endless lectures and warnings about the imminent dangers of a young woman such as myself being raped. These said lectures are normally administered every time she spots me in an outfit that she deems to be less that savory.

"How sweet of you," I say with what I hope to be a sarcastic tone. You know, while drunkenness does have its many bright spots, it also has a downward slope as your drinking progresses. Point one: hangovers. Even the word causes you to flinch. Point two: any sort of intelligence that you may have possessed before making the decision to drink goes straight out the window. If you even attempt to have an actual conversation with someone—other than hitting on some random guy, or girl, as the situation may be—you will come off looking like an absolute uneducated fool. This is why after drinking I always swear never again…until the next time something fundamentally bad happens to me and then all the bad aspects of getting "wasted" seem minimal and largely unimportant.

"I know," he responds gallantly, "I'm just that kind of guy. Can't have you being raped in dark alley now-"

"No," I interrupt dryly, "I at least deserve a halfway decent hotel room."

Harry smiles, "That's the spirit!"

I stare down at Harry's own full drink. "You know, it's terribly rude to allow a lady to drink alone." Complying instantly, he downs his drink while I smile cheerfully, drinking socially is perfectly acceptable.

This began Harry's thinking he could drink me under the table. If there is one thing we Weasleys are proud of it is our ability to hold our liquor. Really, the secret to that though is that we all act so bloody insane sober that it's hard to distinguish whether we are drunk or not. Unfortunately for me—or unfortunately for Harry, however you want to look at it—my substance tolerance is actually relatively low. I have learned to pretend that I'm more sober than I am, but after about four drinks I'm completely gone.

And with Harry I lost count after the fifth.

Needless to say we were both a tad…under the influence, if you will. But if there is one major perk to alcoholic inclinations—and believe me, there is one—it is that anything stupid you may do cannot be blamed on you the next day. If you burn down someone's house, just shake your head with a laugh and say "Sorry about that, I was so drunk." This is a universal excuse that people will accept. If you are drunk you are out of your normal state of mind, you are—supposedly—not aware of, nor responsible for, any of your actions.

While we didn't burn down anyone's house, we did do…er, something that needs the "I was really drunk" line. And the worst part about it is that I'm not completely sure what we did. Okay, here's what I remember: We were having a right jolly time in the alcoholic corner, just laughing like you wouldn't believe…funny how everything seems hysterical after a few drinks. I told Harry about Colin and he thought it was just bloody hilarious that I had run out of the restaurant on poor Colin. Then I made the mistake of giving him my marriage theories and he found all those to be the funniest thing he had ever heard. I remember laughing with him, but I don't really find it funny, this is a major problem after all. No laughing matter.

So we were laughing, he told a couple of "You know you're Voldemort's obsession when…" jokes, and it was just a good time all around. And then we left. Here is where the problem comes into play, we left together and went home…together.

We went back to Harry's place and at some point we sort of fell onto each other's lips. I can blame that one on the fact that we are both klutzy enough without being drunk. So we kissed, that's innocent enough. Then I remember us continuing to kiss on his couch, which at some point led to kissing on his bed. And that's it. That is all that I remember.

So here I am, naked in Harry Potter's bed without any recollection of how I got this way. To make my innocence of last night even less of a slight possibility I should mention that Harry is sleeping beside me, equally naked. Speaking of which…

I peer down at Harry who is blissfully asleep. The sheet covering him has slipped down to hang low on his hips. I can see his long frame and muscled chest and if I bend just the right way and lift the sheet just a little—well let's just say that it's reassuring to know that if what I think happened last night did happen then I must have had a very nice time.

As I am contemplating this, Harry chooses this moment to wake up. And he doesn't wake up the normal way; you know when you gradually come back to reality and feel all groggy for a few minutes. No, Harry wakes up with a start; he goes from asleep to fully awake in like three seconds. He sits up in the bed hurriedly and looks down at me in a panic.

"Gin," he says quickly, "what are you doing here?"

I feel unjustifiably insulted by that. Maybe I don't remember what went on last night, but he bloody well should. Way to make me feel like I'm not only a whore, but a bad one at that. And my head is splitting in two, so it is, all in all, not a great morning so far.

I give him a moment to realize his nakedness and my own before speaking. "I'm not entirely sure what I'm doing here; I only woke up a few minutes ago."

He places a hand over his face and collapses back onto the mattress. "Shit," I hear him mumble, "damn it, fu-"

"Would you like to establish every curse word known to mankind before having an actual conversation?"

He peers up at me through squinted eyes, "we didn't…that is, we never, er, you know…did we?"

I shrug and am irritated that his own discomfort seems to exceed my own. He should be happy about this; I'm the one that should be upset!

Harry seems to take no notice to my growing annoyance though, as he continues to moan and ramble. "Oh, Ron is going to kill me!"

"Ron!" I snap finally, "you are worried about _Ron _at a time like this? Hang Ron!"

He at last seems to realize that he should say something specifically to me. "I'm so sorry, Ginny; I should have never allowed that to happen. You were drunk, and I was drunk…and I must have taken advantage of you, and-"

"Forget it," I cut him off as I climb out of the bed and throw on my clothes. "No big deal, we were drunk, like you said, so just chalk it up as a one-night-stand and move on."

"But-"

I bend down and ignore the disgusting morning breath factor as I give him a quick kiss on the lips. "Don't worry about it, Harry."

Obviously, this was a first time for him on the whole one-night-stand thing, as his discomfort seems to actually be growing. "Let me at least make you breakfast, or coffee, or something."

I shrug; that really isn't how this is supposed to work. I am supposed to leave upon waking up, but the idea of coffee is appealing largely to my headache. "Okay, that's sounds good."

He smiles then grimaces as he makes his way out of the bed and towards clothing—it is refreshing to know I am not the only one suffering from the aftereffects of drinking. We make our way to the downstairs portion of his house and I refrain from thinking about how utterly odd this entire situation is. Last night I was with my nice, stable boyfriend on my birthday eating at a nice restaurant…now I am with Harry, my brother's best friend. Nope, I am just not going to open that particular can of worms.

* * *


	3. There’s No Village Idiot Here, We All Ta...

Unconventional Commitments

Chapter Three

There's No Village Idiot Here, We All Take Turns

I have to admit that as I walk back to my apartment after my extremely awkward parting from Harry I feel horrible. I have that "night after" whorish feeling as I trudge up the stairs of my building and find my keys. I hate that I am still wearing the same dress from the night before…anytime that you see a young girl out in the early hours of the morning dressed in obvious night clothes you know exactly where she has been, and exactly what she has been doing. It's the walk of shame.

Even though I don't think anyone is out to see me, I have the curse of an overactive imagination. I keep picturing perverted people lurking in the shadows, watching me and getting mental pictures about what had been going on. Just because I can't see them doesn't mean they can't see me…

Moreover, I still don't know if I have the right to feel like I've shamed my mother or not! I cringe as my mother pops into my mind. I have to go home the tomorrow—or maybe tonight, I don't remember—it is a random family get together day. Yeah, we have a lot of those. Basically, it's my father getting bored and deciding to force his entire family home out of guilt. You know the "well, you don't have to come…it'd just be nice to have the family together. But if you're busy, I understand. I suppose you'll all be able to see each other at my funeral." That one's easy to decline.

Finally making it to my apartment door, I take out my keys. Hermione insisted that we live in a muggle apartment…she said she was more comfortable there. As I was desperate to get away from home, I didn't particularly care where I lived so long as it was away from my mother. This turned out to be a mistake on my part though as I know about zip about muggle living. I am learning though…learning to never, under any circumstances, to live anywhere other than the wizarding world.

Proud of myself that it only took me a few minutes to get the key to work I don't notice Hermione sitting on the couch waiting for me. Therefore, I am more than slightly surprised when I hear a snappish voice out of nowhere say "Just _where_ have you been?"

I jump and place a hand over my fast beating heart. "Hermione! Were you intentionally trying to kill me or is that just a perk of sitting in the dark like a stalker?"

She stands up and I see her appearance for the first time. She looks absolutely dreadful. She has bags under her eyes and her hair is the definition of frazzled disarray. It is obvious that she has had little to no sleep. "I was worried sick about you," she says as she walks toward me, "if you were going to stay with Colin you could have very well told me. I thought that you had been murdered, kidnapped, raped—"

"Do you have any clue how much you sound like my mother right now? It's uncanny really. I think you've been spending too much time at the Burrow."

"Well that's probably because I've been talking to her off and on for the past five hours."

My mouth drops open; surely, I hadn't heard her right. Hermione, the girl whom had become my best friend, would not have turned me into my own mother. "You didn't floo my mother, did you?" She nods in confirmation. "Why! Why would you call her…Oh, if I'm going down I'm taking you and Ron with me. This time tomorrow Mum will know all about Ron's, ahem, late night stays here."

She attempts rub her eyes aimlessly and she ends up hitting herself in the nose. As I bite back a laugh, Hermione sighs in exasperation. "I thought you were lying in a ditch somewhere dying. I tried to floo Colin, you know, but no one answered. So then, I thought that you were _both_ lying in a ditch dying. You are an adult, Ginny, and if you and Colin want to have…relations, well that is no business of mine. All I ask is that you let me know when you are not coming home, or at least answer when someone is screaming your name from Colin's fireplace."

Seriously, she and my mother…I cannot even tell them apart anymore. However, to my horror, I felt a blush nevertheless creeps up my face. "I, uh, I wasn't exactly at Colin's," I mumble with my eyes glowed on the ground, "which is why I didn't answer you."

"Where were you then?"

"Oh, you know…around."

She narrows her eyes and crosses her thin arms over her chest. My gaze goes every possible place in the room to avoid meeting hers. People may talk about the Weasley women having somewhat of a "death glare," but we all have absolutely nothing on Hermione when she is mad. And, lucky for me, at the moment, Hermione finally forces me to match her stare—I feel an overwhelming amount of pity for Ron.

"Ginny," she says very slowly, "were did you go?"

I mumble an answer very quickly under my breath.

"What did you say?" she snaps, "I didn't quite catch that."

"I said I was at Harry's."

She gasps and takes an unconscious step back. "What were you doing there?"

I put a glare on myself that I hope can give Hermione's a run for its money. "What do you think?"

She sits down as though in shock and then mumbles, "I think I need to sit down."

"You kind of already are."

She looks up at me and seems to be almost hurt. "Ginny, how could you sleep with Harry?"

"What do you mean 'how could I'? It wasn't exactly a sober decision if you know what I mean. Why does this even concern you, Hermione, why do you care?"

"Because," she says slowly, "I know you. I love you, and I love Harry…but Harry feels emotional obligations that you, well, don't."

I rub an exasperated hand over my eyes; I really haven't had enough sleep to deal with this. "Would you like to make that a little clearer, Hermione? I'm not exactly in the mood to read between the lines."

She sighs and leans back on the sofa. "What it means is that you have a habit of running out on relationships without so much as looking over your shoulder. Harry has been through a lot and he doesn't need you to complicate his life more."

My mouth literally hangs open. _Me_ complicate things? Like sleeping with Harry is just simplifying my life? "I don't think Harry is as emotionally unstable as you are making him out to be. It's not like he is in love with me or even wants to pursue a relationship at all—"

"Even if he doesn't want to, he will. Harry is not the one night stand type; he'll feel like he used you…"

The only thing I really get out of that was that she was insulting me on some level. "So Harry's not the one night stand type, but I am?"

She bites her lip, "I didn't say that."

"No, but you insinuated it. I'm not going to break Harry's heart, Hermione, don't worry about it. If he really feels some sort of 'emotional obligation' to me then we'll do one date, he can feel gallant, and then we will all just go on our merry ways."

"But don't you see how awkward things will be for everyone if you and Harry date?"

"Well that's not a particular concern of mine. If you'll excuse me, I'm going to bed." I stalk out of the room and into my own.

My bed is calling to me and I long to answer it except…I have this weird issue—a separate issue from the commitment thing, because it's completely normal to have more than one…I hope—anyway, I am somewhat of a slob. I personally don't feel that I'm too bad, but I've been told otherwise—namely by Hermione and my mother. I find it to be perfectly acceptable that when you get home from a long day of work to want to get out of your work clothes and into something that is actually comfortable. Well, who actually takes off an article of clothing, puts it away, and then takes out something new and neatly puts it on? You throw off your work clothes and grab the nearest pair of pajamas.

So after a few days my clothes pile sort of…well, piles up, for lack of a better expression. And while I'm not a neat freak by nature at random times it will just annoy the hell out me to be in my room and see just stuff cluttered everywhere. I like to think this is because I am a rather free individual and need space to express my creativity. But it's probably more like the mess gets to the point where even I can't take it…either way, this was one of my times where I could not stand to even be in my room. The mess just nauseated me and I knew that if I did by chance get to sleep I would have one of those weird freaky nightmares where I'm drowning in a sea of clothes and suffocate.

I take a deep breath and bravely walk towards my clothes. I am tired and agitated, but I am cleaning up my mess, my mother would be proud. Smiling and mentally patting myself on the back I heave up my pile of clothes, carry them into my closet, and promptly throw them in, shutting the door behind me on my way out. I brush off my hands and crawl into my bed. Job well done.

* * *

Something is jabbing me in the shoulder. This is my first thought as I gain consciousness, my shoulder is currently being violated. 

"Wake up, Ginny."

I absolutely hate being woken up by anything other than my own will. Someone poking at me and ordering me to get up is not exactly my idea of a good way to start the day. Granted, it is now almost night again, but same concept…

With a defeated sigh, I open my eyes and wait for my vision to clear. Red floods my sight. "What do you want, Ron?" I mutter into my pillow.

"Hussy," he says indignantly, "my little sister is a hussy!"

At his unprovoked insult, I sit up in the bed, now fully awake. "What did you just call me?"

"How could you have…s-e-x with Harry! My best friend, Ginevra!"

"S-e-x," I muse. This is an insert eye roll here sort of moment, "What are you, Ron, ten? I feel sorry for Hermione, I really do. I mean how do you do foreplay? Is your idea of getting her in the mood to spell out everything? Of course, with Hermione being, well, Hermione…that might get her in the mood."

"Ginny!" He shouts, his face turning beet red, "This is not the sort of conversation that family members have. Come to think of it this is not the sort of conversation that anyone should have…you're avoiding the subject here!"

I look carelessly down at my nails, "And what would that be, spelling?"

"Sexual intercourse with Harry!"

At this point, I look up with extreme interest, "Really? I thought that you didn't swing that way…"

"_Ginny_!"

"_Ron_," I mock, "this is none of your business. I am an adult; Harry is an adult, butt out."

"Butt out," he repeats, "butt out she says—"

"She is sitting right here halfwit," I mutter.

He doesn't seem to hear me though, "Well someone has to do something about this." He suddenly looks as though he has a brilliant idea, "I'm telling Mum!"

"You're what!"

"She'll set you straight." He looks as if he is genuinely pleased with himself! As I am making my way out of the bed to set _him _straight he takes out his bloody wand and apparates.

"Ron," I threaten to the air where he once stood, "I am _so_ not buying you a Christmas present this year!"

* * *


	4. Sibling Fight

Unconventional Commitments

Chapter Four

Sibling Fight

I stand in the same spot for a few minutes in shock. He really left; he has really run home to Mum to tattle on me. Okay, granted I might have accidentally told Mum that Ron and Hermione have played house…but it completely slipped, and I made sure that she knew it was a one time only thing. And it has happened so many more times than once…

In addition, Ron has no right to act all traumatized just because I _may _have slept with Harry. I have had nights where I have actually been subjected to…hearing…things. There is nothing more awkward than lying in bed and hearing moaning noises coming from the room across the hall. Honestly, you would think that they would have the common decency to use a silence charm or something. Plus the fact that it is my brother just makes it ten times worse. So maybe he doesn't like the idea of his little sister having s-e-x, but at least he doesn't have to literally hear it!

As these thoughts are running through my head I begin to pace. First of all, I despise the act of pacing. I despise pacers themselves even more. It is just a pointless thing to do. You walk back and forth, back and forth, back and—well, you get the general idea. It wears out your flooring and only adds to your troubles because your legs become sore and tired. Or maybe that last part is just me…this could be a sure sign that I need to exercise more if pacing is making me tired.

Irritated with myself, I sit back down on the bed. It is time for a plan of action. I have to go home today, it is family dinner day. Oh, joy. If I know my mother—and trust me, I do—she will make an absolute scene over it. Discretion and subtlety are not family traits. As I also know my brothers I know that if they hear a row between her and I involving my having slept with a man…well they will most likely fall back two centuries and go out to defend their sister's honor. With the exception of Percy…he isn't really the violent type; he will instead make up charts and tables about single mother rates and suicide levels of unmarried women over the age of twenty-three.

I have to get there first. I decide that I will nobly accept my fate, lecture, and punishment all on my own. Granted, it is ridiculous that I will receive some sort of punishment for something that is no one's business besides my own…but my mother goes by the philosophy that if you suffer for it the first time, you are less likely to make the same mistake a second time.

Speaking of a violation of my privacy though…Ron never told me how he discovered about my nightly activities. There are about two ways he could have come about that information: One, Harry told him. For the love of God, I hope that one is not true. Two, Hermione told him. This appears to be the more likely possibility. So that means one thing, Hermione has crossed over to my bad side. A place no one wants to be.

I stalk out of the room in a newfound fit of rage and yell out, "Hermione!" She appears from behind the door to her bedroom looking guilty. Well, maybe she doesn't actually look guilty, but when you have already prejudged someone for something, they are always going to look guilty to you. "I have a bone to pick with you."

She steps out of her room to face me, "That is a really horrid expression, you know. Have you ever stopped to consider what it means?"

"I don't really care. You told Ron about Harry and me!"

She avoids making eye contact, always a bad sign. "I didn't really mean to…I was just upset and hadn't had enough sleep, and it kind of slipped. Was he really that bad to you?"

"That bad," I yell, "that bad! He bloody well went home so he could tell Mum about it! By the end of tonight he will most likely be missing a body part!"

"Ginny, calm down. He would not go home to tell your mother, he isn't that dumb."

"Isn't that dumb? Do you remember who we are talking about here? This is the same person who still laughs for fifteen minutes every time someone mentions the planet Uranus!"

"Oh, dear. Are you sure he went to the Burrow to tell her though, perhaps you're jumping to conclusions?"

I clench my fists and vow not to hit the wall. "He told me he was going home to tell Mum; what conclusion can I jump to besides that he went home to tell Mum about Harry and me?"

At least she has the decency to look remorseful and embarrassed. However, this does absolutely nothing to help my predicament. I throw my hands up in frustration and stalk back into my room just as quickly as I had left it.

There is really only one choice that I have, I am going to have to go to the Burrow and face my mother. Is there anything more horrifying?

* * *

I make sure that I apparate outside of my childhood home. That way I can give myself time to collect my thoughts. And after I few minutes, I feel that I really have the upper hand on the situation. Okay, that last part is a complete lie, but it is nice to think about. 

I take a deep breath and open the door—to find Ron and my mother sitting at the kitchen table drinking tea.

"I just don't understand it," he moans pitifully, "where did we go wrong with her?"

"There, there," she says reassuringly, "it'll all work out, Ron, you'll see. Ginny's a smart girl, she'll get herself together."

"No, no…it's too late. Mum, she's not…she isn't…a-"

"Virgin?" I interrupt coldly. "Yeah, well sorry about that…Actually, I'm not sorry at all."

"Ginevra Molly Weasley," my mother declares loudly, "I will not have you speaking that way. We don't use crude language of that sort in this family…"

I nearly snort, virgin is hardly a crude word, and has she _heard _any one of my brothers speak? They take offense language to an entirely new level. Sighing with resignation I make my way to the table and give her a kiss on the check, "I'm sorry. How are you, mum?"

"Well, I would certainly be better if I hadn't heard of my daughter's less than savory nighttime activities no less than a minute ago." I open my mouth to let loose on all of Ron's indiscretions when she surprises me, and not in a good way. "However, I am more than aware of other people's," she gives Ron a pointed look here, "imperfections in that area. All can be forgiven in the name of love, though, and I have to say that I am just thrilled to hear about you and Harry! Although, I thought you were with that camera fellow…no matter, though, Harry will do nicely for you. Ron tells me that the two of you are quite serious. I do hope this means that we will be seeing Harry at dinner tonight?"

"I…uh, yeah, of course." What the hell has Ron been telling her? "Ron," I manage to say with a very strained smile, "would you mind coming outside with me for a moment so we could discuss something?"

"I'd rather not."

"Ron, don't be silly," our mother interjects, "go outside with your sister. A little sibling bonding time would do the two of you a world of good."

Yeah, sibling bonding…that's exactly what I have planned for him. He grudgingly gets up from the table and follows me outside.

"Ron, you idiot!" I yell the second we are out of her hearing range. "What in the bloody hell did you tell her?"

He sniffs indignantly, "Nothing more than the truth. I informed her of your relations with Harry and saved your arse by mentioning the deep relationship the two of you are in at the moment."

"Deep relationship! We have never even been on a date, you dolt! I don't know what you did, but you better undo it by dinner tonight because Harry is _not_ coming here."

"Yes he is."

"_No_, he isn't. I am not going through that horror just so you can feel better about the situation. You need to grow up quick, Ron, or else I am going to do you some serious bodily harm!"

He actually has the nerve to laugh. "Ginny, you are hardly in any position to be a threat to me physically."

I raise my eyebrows, "I really had no intention of exerting any physical effort beyond moving my wand hand. And trust me, Ron, I am a threat to you there."

He pales slightly, "Well, the thing is, Harry has already been called and is getting ready to come here. And Mum is expecting him to be here, and you'll have to do a lot of explaining to her as to why he suddenly can't make it."

"Fine! I don't particularly care if he comes; Harry comes to these things all the time. You had just better make sure that he isn't playing the role of my boyfriend during the duration of his visit. Otherwise, not only will I inform Mum of every one of your dirty little secrets, but I will show Hermione your stash of Playwizard magazines!"

He gasps, "You wouldn't dare!"

"Try me, Ronald."

"All right," he mumbles, "you have my word that Harry will be your platonic friend for the evening.

"Good."

* * *


	5. Random Family Gathering

Unconventional Commitments

Chapter Five

Random Family Gathering

I reluctantly go back into the house to face my mother. I know that she is not done; no way is she letting me off that easy. With a deep breath and an unsteady foot forward, I venture into the rundown house, leaving Ron outside to worry about how he is going to undo his mess.

"Hey, Mum," I say uneasily when I walk into the kitchen. "Did you want any help?"

"No," she says with a smile, "you don't have to do anything, dear. Just sit right there. Or better yet, why don't you go get yourself ready for dinner? I know that you'll want to look your best for that man of yours."

I flinch when she reaches the 'man of yours' part. "Umm, Mum, there is something that I've been meaning to tell you about that. You see, Harry and I…that is, we aren't—technically—together."

She laughs, "Oh, Ginny, I know that you learned this from Fred and George."

"Learned what?"

"To ruffle my feathers, as the twins say."

I nervously play with my hair, "I'm not attempting to ruffle your feathers, Mum. Harry and I are not, nor have we ever been, a couple."

"But…but, Ron said that you stayed with him at his house. _Quite_ alone. And don't you think that I don't know what goes on when two young people are staying alone at night!"

"Hermione and I stay the night alone together practically every night," I say, getting annoyed, "does that mean we have sex?"

"Ginevra Molly Weasley!" she says in a scandalized tone, "I know that I brought you up better than that. You very well knew what I meant."

"Sorry," I mumble.

She turns and sits down at the table with me. "Ginny, I know that you like to…oh, what is that they say? Ah, yes. Play the field. Yes, you like to play the field, which is perfectly fine for most girls, but, dear, I fear you will gain somewhat of a reputation doing that. You are twenty-three years old now; don't you think it's time for you to settle down?"

My mouth hangs open, did she really just use the term playing the field? "Okay, there were so many things wrong with that statement that I'm really not sure where to begin…but, what the hell, I'll give it a go. Firstly, I do not play the field. In fact, I do not know anyone who does. Secondly, why exactly is it acceptable for other girls to date around, but not me? And thirdly, twenty-three is hardly old maid age. Bill and Charlie are well into their thirties and I don't see you pestering them to settle down!"

"Ginny, it's different with men."

"Bullshit," I slip in anger. I immediately cover my mouth in hope that she somehow didn't hear me.

She gasps. "I will not have this continuing cursing going on in my home! I don't know where you picked up this language, but you better lose it quick, Missy."

"You should hear Ron," I mutter under my breath.

"What was that?"

"I said I'm sorry, Mom," I amend before she can start another row on that one.

She sighs. "Ginevra, I know that you think of me as old-fashioned and a tad pushy…but I just want you to be happy. Ever since you were a little girl, I have wished for you to find your soul mate in life, that one person to make you whole. I've been so happy in my own life and marriage; I've always felt so fulfilled…I just want the same for you."

I give her a smile, "I am happy, Mum. A man in your life does not mean happiness. I have plenty of love all around me, with my friends and family."

"I know that. However, you will see soon enough that you can be surrounded by people and still be lonely. That's why I'm so happy for you that you are finally with Harry. Why, I remember when you were ten years old and you got your first glimpse of Harry Potter. We came home and you told me that you were going to marry that boy. Do you remember, Ginny?"

Okay, did she not hear my confession? I hate her ability to just block out what she doesn't want to hear. "No. I don't recall that," I say stubbornly, even though I can remember as if it were yesterday. A stupid little girl with an infatuation bordering on obsession that allowed her common sense to be clouded by dreams and fantasies of some fairy tale romance. As if I would make the mistake of becoming her again.

She sighs, "I didn't suppose that you would. Nevertheless, I know you better than you like to think, Ginny, and Harry can make you happy. Do not shut him out like you do all of your other boyfriends. Well, look at the time; I have to get back to dinner. Be a dear, won't you, and peel those onions over there."

I get up from the chair and put on an apron. Back to mother's little helper…This is why I never come to these things until the last minute, you show up early you get put to work.

I could not help thinking of my mother's words…and more importantly, the look on her face when she said them. If she does not think that I am involved with Harry it will break her heart. I can pretend, if only for tonight. And then tomorrow, I will kill Ron, because this is all his bloody fault!

* * *

When Ron finally comes back inside I grab his arm and pull him aside.

"Ginny," he says in an irate tone, "I promise I'll talk to Harry the second he gets here, just chill."

"About that…there's no need now."

"No need for what?"

"For you to talk to Harry…I'll go along with it. For Mum."

"Ha! I knew she'd get to you—"

"Ron," I interrupt, "if you want to live to see the next five minutes I suggest that you don't finish that sentence."

He nods, "Suggestion dully noted."

I am preparing to lecture him on the complete idiocy of running and tattling on me as we are both grown adults, when Fred and George practice their favorite past time on me—apparating right to the spot where you are standing.

They have bloody magical invisible cameras up around the house just so they can "pop in" directly on you. "Fred!" I yell to the twin presently sitting on my stomach, "Get off of me!"

"Whoops," he says with a laugh. "So sorry, Gin, didn't see you there."

I stand up and brush myself off, "Yeah. Sure you didn't."

"Ginny," greets George, "how is our favorite slave?"

"Don't you mean employee?"

They look at each other and then looked back at me with equal grins, "No, I meant slave."

Our mother walks out from the kitchen with a huge smile, "Boys! I didn't hear you come in, how are you? Come, come, and let me get you something to eat."

"Aren't we all here to eat dinner?" I ask dryly.

"Well, yes," she answers, "but the boys have been working all day, they must be starved now. We can't expect them to wait for everyone else."

"Yeah, Gin," Fred says, "we were doing psychical labor and all that while you were skiving the day off."

"Ginny," my mother gasps, "you skipped a day of work?"

I glare and follow everyone into the kitchen. "What is with all of you tattling on every little thing? Is it too much to ask for all of you to not run to Mummy on every little thing?"

George grabs a cookie, "Show up for work—"

"And we won't have anything to tell Mum," Fred finishes.

"I wasn't scheduled to work today, you dolts."

They look at each other with interest. "We scheduled you today," Fred says with uncertainty.

"No you didn't."

"Yeah…we did."

"_No_, you didn't." I bite back a smile of satisfaction as they drop the subject, neither recalling for sure if they had scheduled me or not. That is the beauty of working for the twins; they do not believe in writing things like schedules down so I skip a day here and there and then convince them that they never scheduled me in the first place.

And for anyone who is thinking of judging me on this, if you had grown up being their bloody guinea pig you would skive off a day here and there too.

I give them each a pointed look before getting out of the kitchen while I still have my angry exterior in tact. Busting out laughing will certainly not help my case.

On my way out I hear one of them mutter, "I told you we need to start writing down the schedule."

* * *

I make my way back outside. The only place that I have ever been able to get any peace around my home is outside in my dad's shed. I smile as I see a light on in the shed, Dad always has been found of his shed. Not to mention all of his muggle toys located inside of it…

I walk over to the shed and knock heavily on the door so he will hear me over the horribly loud music that he always has on nowadays. I can still recall how fondly we all "thanked" Charlie when he thought it would be a swell idea to give Dad a muggle stereo for one Christmas. One that has the ability to blast music to ungodly heights…Mum hates it.

Without waiting for an answer, I enter the darkened shed. "Dad," I call out, "are you in here?" I immediately feel the urge to hit myself after that question; it always bothers me when people would ask questions that they already knew the answer to. Seems ridiculous and pointless…

He turns off the stereo and greets me with a giant hug. "Ginny Bean! How wonderful to see you, dear."

I smile and accept his hug; he has been far more emotional since the war. Hence the many, many family get-togethers—he has seen with his own eyes how mortal we all were, so he now designated it his job to keep us all in constant contact.

He ushers me to his small table and seats me in one of the chairs. "So, tell me, how are you? Fred and George aren't working you too hard are they?"

"I'm fine, Dad. Fred and George are…well, they're Fred and George, they believe in delegating any tasks that are not playing jokes on customers down to the employees they so affectionately refer to as 'peons.' And since they only have one employee besides themselves and Lee, those wonderful tasks go to me."

He ruffles my hair playfully, "Don't worry about it, pumpkin. I know my girl; you can take those boys anytime that you want to."

I smile genuinely; my dad has always made me believe that I can do anything. That if I set my mind to it, everything would be all right. And for a moment, I truly believe that he is right, that everything will be fine.

Unfortunately, that moment ended soon enough when Harry arrived. And all hell broke loose with his arrival.

* * *

A/N- I feel as though I should say something…there, I said something, lol. Thanks to everyone who reviewed, I appreciate and love every one of you! Oh, and in case anyone wanted to point out that Ginny told her mother that she and Harry weren't dating and then Molly continued to talk as if they were…well if she is anything like my mother, she has very selective hearing and memory on some things, lol. 


	6. The Six Stages of Embarrassment

Unconventional Commitments

Chapter Six

The Six Stages of Embarrassment

I walk back into the house with my father with a feeling of impending doom. Actually, that is a lie, I do not _feel _impending doom, I know it. This is going to an absolute mess, what am I going to do? I have actually only been brave enough to bring a boyfriend home to the family once…and that was not a good experience. The horrors of that summer will be imprinted in my mind forever. Poor, poor Dean Thomas, I think he's been scarred for life.

Of course, Harry is not my boyfriend. Not even close, he is just someone that I may or may not have had a one-night-stand with. Nevertheless, everyone else, save Ron and Hermione, will soon be under the impression that he is. So I will be required to go along with that, and I have no clue what to do. How am I supposed to act exactly? Do I hold his hand? Do I kiss him?

I finally settle on the resolve that I will take the coward's way out and give him the distinct pleasuring of leading the situation. Congratulations, Harry, and you are very welcome.

My dad and I finally make it to the door and I am greeted with the observation that Harry has made it while I was out back. There goes the slight hope that I was clinging to that he might not show up and I will have nothing to worry about. I could have played the role of victim extremely well, "He must not care for me after all…" and all that.

"Uh, hey, Harry," I greet lamely.

"Hello, Ginny."

All right, so things are going fine. We have both said hello without either one of us turning away in embarrassment. So far, so good. I have just gained a bit of confidence about the situation when my mother intercepts.

"Ginny," she scolds, "is that any way to greet your boyfriend?"

Harry's eyes widened at her last word, and mine close in disbelief. I take a few steps until I am right in front of Harry; I lean in close to his ear and whisper, "I am so sorry," before kissing the corner of his mouth.

I go to move away, but find that Harry's hand has slipped around my back and he is now keeping me directly in front of him. He lowers his head and kisses me full on the mouth before I can even register what is happening. The kiss itself lasts less than a minute, but it feels closer to an eternity. By the time he pulls away my face is beet red and I find myself unable to meet his eyes.

"Hello, darling," he greets once more. He then turns toward my mother. "Is that more appropriate, Mrs. Weasley?"

My mother all but gushes, "Oh, Harry, dear, you such the romantic."

I heard equal noises of gagging coming from behind me. "Harry mate," George says, "just make sure you don't attempt to greet me."

A loud "pop" saves me from the twins' attention being turned to me. I bravely turn around to see Bill has appeared.

"Hello all," he says cheerfully. His gaze stops on me. "Say, how come Gin is all red?"

Fred and George immediately burst into peels of laughter before gleefully motioning Bill to come closer to them. "Well," Fred begins, "it seems that Harry here—"

"Is our little Ginny's new beau," George finishes.

Bill's eyes narrow as he turns toward Harry, "Is that a fact?"

Harry places an arm bravely around my waist. I jerk away out of reflex, but quickly settle into his embrace on second thought. "Yeah," he responds with surprising confidence.

Bill then turns to me, waiting for me to confirm the fact, when yet another Weasley appears out of thin air. Yes, we Weasleys are our own personal clown car—it is a never-ending stream of us.

Charlie smiles widely at all of us. "Hey everyone—why is Ginny so red? Is she sick?"

"It seems," Bill says shortly, "that she has a boyfriend."

"Another one? Is he here?" Charlie looks around until he notices Harry's arm circling me. He nods slowly in understanding. "Well, now…that is certainly unexpected."

Charlie takes his place next to Bill and they seem to reach some sort of unspoken understanding. "Harry," Bill says, "do you think we could see you outside for a moment?"

"Actually," I interrupt before Harry can do anything, "he's busy. Perhaps later, though."

"He doesn't appear to be busy," Charlie says suspiciously.

They were obviously hopeless. "I'll tell you what," I relent, "how about the two of you talk to me instead?"

They looked disappoint. "Alright," Charlie mutters as we moved to the door.

Back outside once more, I look at both of them pointedly. "Stop it."

Bill gives me an innocent look, "Stop what?"

"Stop being caveman brothers, I do not need either of your protection or approval. Leave Harry alone, I mean that."

"Ah, c'mon, Gin," Charlie moans, "we just want to talk to him."

"No," I clarify, "you want to intimidate him. You don't understand the situation, so just leave it alone. I want both of you to promise me right now that you will not do or say anything to Harry involving me." Neither said a word. "Promise me, now."

Bill sighed. "I promise, Gin."

"Yeah," Charlie followed, "I promise too."

"Promise what?"

"To not say or do anything to Harry involving you," they repeated simultaneously.

I look each of them in the eye before opening the door once more. "Good. I have to say, I'm proud of both of you, you have really come a long way since that summer when Dean stayed with us."

Bill grins and steps into the house, "Yeah that kid will think twice before gathering the gall to kiss you in front of us again."

After my satisfactory chat with Bill and Charlie—the brothers most likely to cause a scene—I feel at least half-confident that dinner will go over all right. I mean, things can not be worse then that awkward kiss, right?

We all sit down at the table and I realize my vital mistake; I have done nothing to prevent Fred and George from being…well, themselves, really. Damn, damn, damn. This could be potentially catastrophic.

I look at each of them wearily. Harry is seated beside me, and the twins were across from us. I swallow hard and attempt to convey some sort of mental message to them. Do not embarrass me; please do not embarrass me, please, please, please—

"So, Gin," Fred says conversationally, "have you told Harry here the story of what happened to the first bloke you brought around here?" So much for my psychic powers…

"No, Fred," I seethe, "I haven't. But it isn't really is not an interesting story, so I suggest you drop it."

Fred shrugs and drops the story. Unfortunately, George picks it right back up. "Well, you see, Harry, the first boy that she brought home was—" he appears to be perplexed. "Ginny, what was his name?"

"I have absolutely no clue, George," I say dryly.

George shakes his head at me, "Now, you see, that is horrible. Honestly, Ginny, if you didn't have so many boyfriends then perhaps you could remember all of their names. This is what I'm talking about, Harry, you have to watch out for her—"

"Dean," Harry says lowly, "are you talking about Dean?"

"By God that's it!" George exclaims loudly. "Dean. That was his name."

Harry rapidly appears to be losing color. "I was here that summer," his voice cracks, "that summer…when Dean came to visit Ginny."

The twins at least have the decency to flinch. "Well, you understand, mate; brothers got to do what brothers got to do and all—"

"No!" I hiss quietly enough so my parents will not hear, "You did not have to do that! Do you know that till this day Dean will not look or speak to me? Both of you need to stop, right now."

Fred grins at me complacently, "Aw, be a sport, Gin."

I stand up and throw my napkin down on the table, "Fred, George, would you please help me with something in the living room?"

The twins shrug before following me out. I pace in front of them, not able to even scold them I am so angry. I finally come to a stop in front of George and give him a swift kick in the shin.

He immediately bends down and places a hand over his knee. "Oww! What's the idea, Ginny?!"

"You had no right, no right whatsoever!"

"I didn't even bloody say anything!"

"You…you mentioned Dean. Harry was _here _that summer that all of you scarred poor Dean for life! You mean to scare him away from me, don't you?"

Fred steps up. "Now, Ginny, we only wanted to share a nice family story with our friend Harry."

George nods in agreement, "And there is nothing wrong with that."

I point my index finger at both of them. "Butt out of my private life! I have already blackmailed Ron and warned Bill and Charlie. You know damn well what I can do to both of you, so I am not even going to say it. I will only say this, Mum will have some interesting photographs by the end of the night if either one of you so much thinks the name Dean. Savvy?"

The look at each other momentarily before glancing back at me. "Right, Gin," they say together.

"Whatever you want," George adds.

"Yeah," Fred says, "we won't do anything. Weasley honor."

I stalk back into the kitchen and see Bill and Charlie starring daggers at Harry. Moreover, poor Harry looks paler than he did when I left him. "That's it," I declare. "Harry, we are leaving. Thank you for dinner, Mum, it was wonderful. Dad, always lovely to see you. The rest of you…I suppose I will see you sometime in the near future."

Harry looks immediately relieved as he stands from his chair. "Thanks for dinner, Mrs. Weasley," he says quickly before disapparating.

I sigh and repeat his actions, going back to my apartment. Thankfully, Hermione is still at The Dinner from Hell with Ron. Though with how many people attend our dinners if they sit at the opposite end of the table, as Ron and Hermione did, you do not even have to communicate with them; which is a very good thing for Ron, who set this whole thing in motion.

I throw myself down on the sofa, hoping to just go to sleep. However, I notice that I do not land on the soft cushions, instead I land on something hard…I scream and jump up quickly. It is a bloody person! It is…Harry?

"What are you doing here?"

"I…I just came here…instead of going home. I wanted to talk to you; I figured you would be a minute so I sat down here."

"Oh. Well, look, I just want to apologize for whatever you had to go through tonight. I know my brothers can be difficult, believe me I know, and you are such an absolute hero for putting up with it and not screaming at me right now."

He looks around sheepishly. "It's nothing, really. I mean, every guy in Gryffindor had nightmares about the stories they heard about what happened to Dean, poor, poor Dean, that summer…but I just…"

"You just what?"

"I wanted to tell you that—I mean this is dumb, really, because it was so long ago and all…but in your sixth year, I fancied you. Big time."

I resist the urge to laugh. "You fought with me constantly that year. You were an inch away from hating me, I mean; we fought more than you and Malfoy."

He refuses to look at me. "I picked fights with you on purpose. It was the only way I could think of to talk to you—stupid, I know. I just really liked you, but you were so unattainable, not to mention unapproachable. I was terrified to do anything but fight with you, if I had shown you anything close to affection; your brothers would have done the same to me that they did to Dean. Anyway, I just thought you should know that. And, I also wanted you to know that I'm not afraid anymore."

I sit in silence for a good two minutes before letting out an articulate, "Oh."

"Well," Harry says as he stands up, "I will let you get to bed. I know you have to work tomorrow. I'll see you around, Gin."

"Yeah," I respond dully after he has disapparated. "See you."

* * *

A/N-this chapter is dedicated to everyone who attended my last family reunion. Lol, you all are my inspiration for the Weasley dinner. Even though none of you are reading this at the moment…oh well. Sorry about the delay in getting this chapter out, I got caught up with school. Next one will hopefully be out soon, a thousand thanks to all the reviewers of the last chapter, and a million thanks to those of you who are about to review. You are going to review, right? C'mon, you know you want to! No? Well, just do it anyway… 


	7. When Life Gives You a Lemon

Unconventional Commitments

A/N- If you follow multiple stories of mine and notice that many things are being updated at once, do not roll over and die from the shock; lol, I have nothing else to do. Literally nothing. Because on the first day of my vacation my group of friends thought it would be a stellar idea to rent mopeds, and, it is, mopeds are fun…except when you crash into a mailbox and land in a pile of branches. Oh yeah, this is my life. So, I now have multiple stitches on the leg, bruises all over the left side of my body, a near-broken finger, a jacked-up shoulder, and am now left bruised and in pain with nothing but my laptop for company. sigh God, this is depressing.

Oh, and no bitching if it sucks. I'm on medication and have a tripped out sense of humor at the moment. Well, more so than usual that is.

Chapter Seven

When Life Gives You a Lemon

I sit numbly on the sofa. He what? Harry…had a crush on me? Harry that was within an inch of hating me? I decide that this was all too confusing to deal with at the moment and make my way to the kitchen where blessed coffee is waiting to be made.

Salvation, thy name is caffeine. I lean on the counter as I wait for my coffee. He isn't afraid anymore…what the hell is that supposed to mean? Not afraid of what? Me? My brothers? Life in general?

Suddenly I feel unjustifiably angry; he just dumped all of that on me and left! Left me to deal with it alone…Honestly, how am I supposed to get any sleep under circumstances such as these?

Forgetting about my sacred coffee I apparate over to Harry's in the blink of an eye, he is going to get a piece of my mind. However, once I am actually at Harry's…well, I forget why I was so angry in the first place. Feeling rather silly I prepare to go back home so that I can just write this off as a moment of temporary insanity, when Harry walks into his living room.

"Ginny?!"

"Umm…hey, Harry," I greet lamely as I feel my face turn red. He had to walk into his living room now of all times…couldn't wait five bloody seconds.

"What are you doing here?"

"Well, you surprised me, so, uh; I thought it was only fair that I do the same for you."

He settles for the simple, "Oh."

I laugh uneasily, "Yeah. So…I guess that I'll just be going now—"

"No!" He interrupts quickly, "Don't go, Gin. I mean, you're already here and all…and you must be tired, I wouldn't want you to apparate under stressful conditions. Stay here and rest up a bit first."

Okay, first of all, it is not as though this is a time of war or something. I highly doubt that I am so stressed that I will end up in Australia instead of my apartment. Second of all…he wants me to stay?

I take a deep breath. "I don't like…have to, Harry. I mean, I don't want to inconvenience you anymore than I already have over the past few days. But, if you want me to…"

"I do. I want you to; I think it'd be nice for us to talk."

"We already talked."

"I know. I always have more to tell you."

I give a small smile. "Alright then. We can…talk."

Harry smiles back and makes a gesture to a nearby sofa. After I sit down and he remains standing, I prepare myself for the awkward silence that is sure to follow. Rule of thumb, there is always, _always _awkward silence. You put a girl and guy together in a room and that is a moment that is guaranteed to come. No one likes it, but everyone expects it.

Except…the silence does not seem so awkward. I would even stretch as far to say that the silence is somewhat comfortable. Weird.

"Ginny," Harry starts out, "I am truly sorry if I upset you by dropping all that on you tonight. I know that you already have enough to deal with…it was just something that I wanted you to know."

"It's fine, Harry," I reassure. "And it isn't as though you don't have the right to do loads of things to me, after all that you have been put through tonight. God, I cannot even apologize enough for my damned brothers. Would you like me to send you a giant stuffed bear with a lovely card to your work? You know, to make you feel better about it or something…"

He laughs, "A giant bear _and _a card? Well, I don't know if I'm worth all that, Gin. Don't sweat tonight, I knew going into it that your brothers would be less than stellar about the situation. After all, I was there that, ahem…one summer."

I cringe. "Yes, that…one summer. However, they will leave you alone, I promise. I am going to explain to all of them that it was just a ploy to pacify Mum. Trust me, they have all done their fair share of plotting and tricking everyone to escape the wrath of Mum, they will grant me this one."

Harry attempts a smile. "That's good, I wouldn't want a gang of Weasleys storming into my office tomorrow with plans to hogtie and beat me. How…how did your Mum find out about this, though? I went along with you because Ron told me to, but I still don't understand how it all came about."

I feel myself beginning to seethe as I spit out one word. "Ron."

"Ron?"

"Ron told her. That bloody buffoon went and blabbed to Mum not five seconds after inappropriately bitching me out."

"How did Ron find out?"

"Hermione."

"And how did Hermione find out?"

"I, uh…you know, kind of told her."

"I think I need to sit down."

I pat the cushion beside me, "By all means."

Harry falls heavily back on the couch when I notice how red his cheeks have turned. He cradles his head in his hands and mumbles something along the lines of, "Oh, God, I am so embarrassed." Yep, just throw a few random curse words in that line and you have what he really said.

I roll my eyes and lean back next to him. "Oh, chin up, Harry. They didn't think you were a virgin or anything. It's just sex, everyone does it."

He refuses to look at me and keeps his head down in his hands. He mutters something lowly that sounds like "Lot totter-fun."

"Huh? Speak up, Harry."

Again with the mumbling. This time it sounds like "Caught merry ton."

_"What_?"

He at last snaps his head up and loudly stats, "_Not everyone_!"

"Everyone isn't what?"

Harry's face turns a deeper shade of red. "Not everyone has sex. Some people are still virgins. Or, should I say, _were_ still virgins."

My hand flies straight to my mouth in immediate shock, "No way…you are, that is were, a virgin? Come on, Harry, you had probably more than a million opportunities. I don't believe you."

"Don't believe what? That I have morals?"

"Are you saying that I don't?"

He groans. "I didn't mean it that way. I don't exactly have proof or anything, but I was a virgin, until…that night."

I look down. "Your word is good enough for me. I'm…sorry, Harry." Who would've thought Harry was a virgin? I mean, a twenty-four-year-old male virgin…I thought for sure they were an extinct species. Actually, not even that. I was unaware they existed in the first place.

"Don't be sorry. I was just…waiting for the right person."

"I am sorry. I'm so sorry that you didn't get to have your moment with the right person."

"But…I did." He stands up quickly and looks away from me, but I still catch a glimpse of his red face. "You better go, Gin."

"Yeah," I relent, "I guess so. See you later or something." I apparate with a strong sigh and a sense of unprecedented guilt.

Okay, okay, so I admit that I feel like a bitch for taking poor Harry's virginity. Not to mention a whore for losing my own so long ago. However, I do not feel guilty enough to play the role of girlfriend.

I recognized that look in his eyes, that I-want-a-deep-and-meaningful-relationship look. No way, not going to happen. You see, I like Harry…as a friend. Come on, I was effing drunk when I slept with him! Allegedly slept with him, that is. Oh hell, who am I kidding? It happened. I know that it happened because I had a…dream about it. More like a nightmare, really. I woke up in a near panic because it was _Harry_ and I just can't—I mean don't—feel that way about him. Anymore. I lost my crush on him in fourth year, thank you, and I do not want it back.

If we become a couple, it would just be…forever. I would be with him for the rest of my life because no one would let me leave! If I tried to break up with him he would pull that sad little boy face and I would feel guilty all over again and lose my gall to do it. Not to mention that my mum would kill me. Oh, God…Mum is going to flip when she finds out that Harry and I are not together. You see? The force thing is already starting and we've never even been out on a date!

I cannot do this…I cannot be trapped. It would never work out between us, he wants a family and I want a life. He wants a nice little wife to take to office parties and I want the freedom to choose if I want to go to that party or not.

It is simple, I refuse. I will not lose my name and surrender to the cringe-worthy term of "Mrs." God, I hate that. It's always Mr. and Mrs. John Smith, or whatever….the wife doesn't even get her name acknowledged, she is only the "Mrs." I am Ginny bloody Weasley and I will not shorten myself to three letters over a case of guilt.

Feeling vindicated, I walk through my apartment with the sudden urge to high five someone. I am fine. No, I am better than fine, I am single, independent, and happy. I do not need, nor want, a man; especially not Harry. Nope, the Harry thing is out of sight, out of mind. I mean, it was really only one drunken night, no big deal…no reason to do, well anything, really. Alcohol related mistake, nothing more, nothing less.

I bop my head along to a nonexistent beat and grab one of Ron's beers out of the refrigerator. I pop the tab and take a gulp…which immediately causes me to begin choking because I forgot that I despise the taste of beer. Nasty stuff, really.

I pound my chest a few times and glare at the beer. "Damn you," I say to it, "you tricked me in all your alcoholic glory."

The beer sits on the table and silently taunts me. I'm getting ready to declare full-fledged war on the beer when an owl flies through the window. I look at it in surprise, it's Hedwig…

I gently accept the letter and open it with apprehension.

_Ginny,_

_I know this is the coward's way out…but would you do me the honor of accompanying me to a dinner at the Ministry? Check yes or no, Hedwig knows to wait for your response._

I stare down at the note in disbelief; he actually drew a yes box, and a no box. That is so…weird. Come on, Harry, I think to myself, you can pull of something a bit better than that.

As I am preparing to laugh at the sheer silliness of the situation, I notice something rather strange, and frankly, alarming: My hand, completely of its own accord, had found a quill…and checked the yes box. Well damn.

* * *

A/N-whistles someone should send me cookies. I'm injured, damnit, feed me. And if you don't send me cookies, well, the least you can do is review. Did I mention I have stitches? And that my finger is hurt? Yeah, ya'll should feel bad that I've been adding pain to my finger just to type this. Okay, now you can review out of pity. 


	8. Of Karma and Irony

Unconventional Commitments

Chapter Eight

Of Karma and Irony

Okay, so the whole "yes" box incident was quite obviously a momentarily lapse in sanity. There is just no other explanation for it. Because I wouldn't voluntarily accept a date to go to some stuffy Ministry dinner with Harry…Please, as if I don't have a million better things to do.

All right, so maybe not a _million _better things…but I do have some. I am not a social freak or anything—I am not desperate enough to spend an evening at the Ministry. Besides, that would give Harry the impression that I am agreeing to a date, which I refuse to do. Because I gave up men about two—or was it three?—days ago, and I would like to keep that promise to myself for at least a week.

I glare at Hedwig, who is beginning to look impatient. Honestly, owls should not have the ability to appear impatient, there is just something wrong about that. I take out my wand and tap the check mark that I had made—with the assistance of magic, my blunder is no more. I chew on the end of the quill until an idea comes to me; I draw a third box and check it quickly before folding the letter and handing it back to Hedwig. The "maybe" box, is there anything greater? The decisiveness of indecision, it's a beautiful thing.

Feeling satisfied with myself for getting something done I make my way back to my bedroom. The way I look at it, I deserve a good night's rest, right?

I slip under the covers with a newfound excitement, is it terribly strange to get excited about the prospect of sleep? Deciding that I do not care if it is odd or not, I close my eyes and vow not to think anything but happy thoughts until at least tomorrow morning. Everything always looks better in the morning…

* * *

The sunlight streams through the windows as I wake with the delicious feeling of comfort and rest. A smile comes to my face as I stretch out with a sigh of contentment. I'm contemplating whether or not I should go back to sleep, when my arm strikes something hard.

I jump and immediately sit up to find…someone else? Okay, now I know that this could not happen to me twice in a span less than a week. No way, I am not that big of a slag to do the one-night-stand thing again. I learned a lesson, damn it!

Nevertheless, someone is there…but they are completely covered with sheets. Frankly, I'm almost afraid to find out who it even is. If it's Harry, well, that's bad because then I will in no way be able to get out of the relationship thing…and if it's not Harry, well, that makes me a complete whore. I'm just screwed either way. Er, perhaps "screwed" was a bad choice of word…

I take a deep breath and decide to just suck it up. I'm brave, right? I was a Gryffindor for some reason, surely. So, all I have to do is just lift up the sheet and find out…that's all there is to it. I close one eye and peek out of the other as I slowly lift the sheet up to find…a mass of raven black hair. Well, that is just terrific. Ginny Weasley, you have just won yourself a lifetime of quality "couple time." Congratu-bloody-lations.

I give a sigh of defeat and throw myself back onto the softness of the mattress—only to remember that my mattress is not soft in the least, I made the mistake of allowing my mother to pick it out, and she decided that firmness is much better for the back. However, I am not met with a harsh feeling; it is just what I had hoped for when I had committed the act of throwing myself…it is soft. It is…not my mattress!

I look around the room with a newfound panic, none of this is mine, and this is not my room at all! "Oh, my God," I say aloud, "what the hell did I do, sleepwalk?"

My intelligent decision to think aloud stirs my bedtime companion. Harry does his annoying "asleep to awake in three seconds flat" act and is all over me in all his concerned boyfriend glory.

"Gin, love," he says soothingly, "is everything all right?"

"Everything is peachy bloody keen," I respond sarcastically. Before I can even hear his response, I notice my hand for the first time. My eyes widen in utter shock and dismay as I see a band of gold gracing my left hand. "Oh…my…God," I breathe as I feel myself beginning to hyperventilate.

"Ginny," he says in a serious tone, "what is wrong? Do you need a Healer?"

"We're married!" I screech finally.

"And?"

"Harry, we are bloody married!"

"Ginny, we've been married for five years. You alright, love?"

I feel tears stinging my eyes. "I am not alright."

Harry's eyes narrow. "Well take a few minutes then. The kids will be downstairs waiting for breakfast."

"Kids?"

"Yeah, our two kids, Ginny." He pats my stomach, "Soon to be three, right sweetie?"

"Three?" I say stupidly. Suddenly the door swings open widely and two children—twins—come bounding up on the bed. All I hear is the word "mummy" being shouted repeatedly as I am practically suffocated by them

"Mummy, I want a broom!"

"Mummy, I can't find my bear!"

"Mummy, Zack stole my shoes!"

"Gin, breakfast? I have to get to work, you know."

The questions and orders just keep coming…so I do the only rational thing that there is to do: I promptly place my hands over my ears and scream.

* * *

I sit straight up in bed with a sharp gasp and immediately place a hand over my fast beating heart. I look around cautiously, it is pitch black out…I am in my room, my bed, and I am completely alone. Oh, thank God, it was only a dream. Or a nightmare.

That, I decide, certainly cannot be a good sign. I am simply not meant to even _talk_ to Harry. He will surely lead me to my downfall; something must be attempting to tell me that. I'm no longer tired, and have absolutely no desire to go back to sleep in fear that the dream will happen again. I cannot even handle being a wife in a bloody dream—I am not cut out for the role, obviously.

I get up from the bed and make my way over to the closet, if I'm up, I might as well go out. If there is one thing I despise, it is just sitting around. That is the most boring act ever invented, just sitting. Bloody monotonous waste of time…

Once dressed I find a clock, it is midnight…where can one go at midnight? I shrug and decide that I might as well try for another night in the "alcoholic corner" of the pub. I could use a night of getting smashed.

I apparate to the pub and walk inside, everything appears to be pretty dead…well, good, I don't really want to talk to people anyway—except, someone is at my alcoholic table! Damn it, now I have to sit in the middle of the room and risk socialization.

Well, before I succumb to the horrors of that, I am going to see who is at my table, and find out if I can scare them off. I round the table, put on my best glare, and promptly find…Dean Thomas. Well now, _that_ is certainly unexpected.

He looks up from the table and regards me with a mixture of surprise and horror. "Ginny," he gasps, "I…I…"

"Don't worry," I sigh, "you don't have to speak with me. I'll just leave you alone."

"No! I mean, you don't have to leave. Sit, please. I'll buy you a drink."

I shrug and take a seat at the table, who can resist a free drink? Even if it is with the one person that shares my worst memories.

"So, Dean," I say to make conversation, "how have you been?"

"Uh…good. I suppose. How have you been? You look absolutely fantastic."

I smile at him widely, "Thanks, you too. Things have been alright."

"Good, good. I'm really…happy for you then."

"I said alright, Dean, not great."

He laughs and the tension of our meeting is finally broken. "Right. So I'm slightly happy for you then. God, Gin, it's been so long."

"Yeah," I look away. "Last time we talked was when you left that…one summer."

He gulps. "Yes, that…one summer."

"But," I say as I accept my drink from the waitress, "no need to rehash all that, now is there?"

Dean gives a sigh of relief, "No, none at all. But I did want to apologize to you, for being such a bloody coward about it all."

"You weren't a coward, Dean. Don't worry about it."

He nods. "So, you with anyone now?"

"Sort of…well, not really. I don't know, it's complicated. You?"

"Yeah, I'm…kind of engaged."

"Kind of?" I repeat. "That's one of those you are or you aren't sort of things, Dean."

He gives me half smile, "Well, I suppose that I am then."

"I would say congratulations, but being that you are here drinking alone, I'd say that you aren't that thrilled about it."

"I don't know, Gin. I'm just not real keen on the whole marriage deal. I asked her and all, but it's like I was pressured into it. She has been dropping hints right and left for five months now…my family kept telling me to do it, my friends kept telling me to do it…so, I did it. And now I'm depressed."

"You…you don't like marriage?" No way is it possible that there is someone else who agrees with me here.

"No, not really. It's just the idea of the same repetitive routine over and over again. Moreover, you don't do anything else but be with that person, from the time that you wake up to the time that you go to sleep, you are with them. Every day for the rest of your life…I may be alone here, but that seems ruddy boring."

"You are not alone," I respond quickly. "I know exactly what you mean, I would completely get sick of the person, and you aren't even allowed to have a life of your own anymore. And the only people that you are friends with are other couples. If you have single friends you never even see them anymore, because all the sudden they are in a completely different class than you. You are married, and that suddenly defines who you are."

He looks at me incredulously for a minute. "Yeah…exactly." He starts to laugh as he swigs back his drink, "You know, I should have known that the one person to completely agree with me would be you."

"Why?"

"Because I've been avoiding you for so long. Irony, karma, whatever label you want to put on it. Do you want to…go…somewhere?"

"Yes," I respond without thinking it through.

Dean nods and stands from his seat, helping me out of my chair immediately after. "All right then, let's go."

* * *

A/N- Okay, all Harry fans chill before you get angry, lol. I promise no slagish activities from Ginny. In case anyone is interested; I posted a story titled "That One Summer" that tells the story of the summer so frequently mentioned in this story. It's going to be a few chapters, but don't feel obligated to read it or anything, you don't need to read that to get this. I just started it a few days ago and got into it…lol, I grew so attached to Dean that I had to drag him into this story.

As always, thank you so much to my lovely reviewers, I appreciate them beyond belief! Be sure to review again, it'll make my day!


	9. Shallowness Is A Virtue

A/N- Ten bonus points to whoever finds the Austen Powers quote that I shamelessly stole. And I already know that those points will not be awarded to Heather, who is a loser and has never watched any Austen Powers movie. Everyone point and laugh at her.

Unconventional Commitments

Chapter Two

Shallowness Is a Virtue

Let me begin by saying that I am not superficial by any means. None whatsoever…

Now, let me tell you that Dean has a _really _nice house. Like jaw-dropping, oh-my-good-lord nice. Not that this influences me in any way, because, as stated, I am not swayed by something like material possessions.

Just as I am not swayed by the fact that he has excellent taste in art, and puts that to good use. Nor by his furniture, that is authentic John Widdicomb. Nope…not at all.

I feel a sigh coming on, if I married Dean, I could _live_ here.

Oh, fine, so I am a superficial little witch. While his house is impeccable though, I would not _actually_ marry him. It'll take a lot more than John Widdicomb to induce me into matrimony. Throw in a Picasso, though…well, now _that_ is a different story entirely. Kidding, kidding…perhaps.

"Would you care for a drink, Ginny?"

My gaze follows Dean's voice to find that he has a full-stocked bar. Damn and I thought that I had alcoholic tendencies. I open my mouth to accept, but remember what getting trashed with a member of the opposite sex got me the last time. "No thank you."

He shrugs and makes a move towards a sofa that I've been practically salivating to simply touch. I hurriedly follow and wish that I had a camera or something to commemorate the event of sitting on this coveted furniture.

"So, Ginny…what have you been doing?"

"Uh, you know, not much. I work at Fred and George's shop—"

Dean cringed, "Oh. So they're still alive then?"

Okay, so maybe I don't like Fred and George so much at the moment…but what a tacky thing to say? Fine, so they made his life Hell for a few months—but to wish death on them? Harsh. "Yeah, seems that way," I answer flippantly. "But what I do is not all that interesting; tell me what you do to pay for all of this."

He smiles and leans back. "Actually I sit around all day."

"And?"

"And that's it. I didn't do anything to get all of this besides be born. I had an extremely wealthy uncle…he died, had no family, save my mother—who had since passed on—so he gave all of it to me. This was his house, my clothes were bought with his money…Hell, I didn't even furnish the place."

"So you didn't decorate this then?"

"No, I didn't."

Okay, so it is his dead uncle that I would nearly marry then. Wait…that didn't sound right.

He tips his glass back and swallows. "In a lot of ways it really isn't that great though; I have no real reason to work. I had a job, but I got so sick of everyone constantly asking why on Earth I would work if I didn't have to. So all I do is live here alone, growing increasingly bored with each passing second."

"Well, if you get married, then at least you won't be alone anymore."

Dean lets out a bitter laugh. "Yeah, instead I will be here with someone whom I'm not entirely sure I even really like, without any possible escape. I won't be able to leave for a few hours each day to go to the office…I won't be able to do anything without her."

"Who is she, anyway?"

"Lavender Brown."

Lavender…I really cannot say that I blame him for dreading spending a lifetime with her. He dated her before me, and obviously got back with her after. It isn't that I dislike her, but…all right, so I do dislike her. She is just such a…girl. You know the type: whiny, fashion obsessed, and boy crazed. I may be superficial, but at least not clothes-wise. That is such a stereotypical thing for any female to like; from the cradle, girls are taught to have a passion for clothes. Why, just look at baby clothes, all the cutest outfits and robes are made for little girls, boys get standard issue.

Therefore, I refuse to fall into the traps and expectations of society. I enjoy décor and art, but fashion…not so much. Stick that in your pipe and smoke it.

"So…when did you get back with Lavender?"

"Hell if I know." He appears pensive for a moment. "I think that I would like to get pissed."

"Well, don't allow my presence to stop you. I can leave if you'd like."

"No, stay. Would you care to join me? I do hate to drink alone, because it makes you less of an alcoholic if you drink socially. Or something like that."

"I probably shouldn't. The last time I got trashed I woke up with…" I catch myself before I launch into an unpleasant story, "a hangover."

Dean laughs, "A hangover as well as an unwanted guest, right?"

"How dare you suggest such a thing as if I am some common slag?" I sigh and relent, "How did you guess?"

"How do you think I ended back with Lavender? C'mon, Ginny, not like we don't have enough embarrassing memories of each other, you might as well tell me."

"Fine. Harry."

"Potter? No fucking way."

"Yes, well the third word you so articulately stated would be the opportune one…And why is it so hard to believe?"

"As tightly as Potter held on to his morals and whatnot, I just never pictured him as the type."

"And you picture me as that type?"

"Er…no?"

Why does everyone think I am a complete whore? This is an injustice, I tell you…

"I think that I need to go, Dean."

"I'm sorry, Ginny. I'm just being an arse, feel free to hit me."

I shrug and smack his arm.

"Ouch! I didn't mean that literally."

"Then you shouldn't have said it."

"Fair enough. So are you and Potter together then?"

"I don't know. It's like, a part of me wants to be with Harry, you know? However, the more sensible part of me knows that if I officially become his girlfriend, then I'll never be able to leave. The thought of being with Harry, or anyone, for the rest of my life terrifies me…and when I look in his eyes I see forever." _When I look in his eyes I see forever_? I repeat silently back to myself. How corny can I get? If I start randomly quoting sonnets I do hope someone puts me out of my misery.

I suddenly become very aware of the fact that Dean is inches from my face. He leans down and brushes his lips against my own. I unconsciously place my hand on the back of his head and pull him in closer to me to deepen the kiss.

He pushes me back against the sofa and places the weight of his body against my own. I am not nearly naïve enough to not know where this is leading…and for once, I don't want it to go there. A handsome, successful, likable, compatible male is kissing me, and I feel nothing. No fireworks, no stars, no anything.

All I find myself thinking of is Harry. Shit.

I forcefully push Dean off me, so that I can stand. "I-I have to go. I'm sorry, Dean."

"No, I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me, Ginny. Please, don't leave, I promise I'll be good."

"No, it isn't that. I just need to leave. It isn't you, I promise. It's me and my thing…I have to go."

"All right, if you really want to leave, I won't keep you."

I lean down and give him a quick peck on the cheek. "Goodbye, Dean. And, a word of advice, don't marry Lavender…trust me, you deserve better."

He laughs lightly and kisses my cheek in return. "I'll keep that in mind."

I walk out the front door and prepare to apparate…but to where? My apartment did not sound at all appealing and neither did the Burrow. In fact, the only place that I desired to go was to Harry's…a strong urge to see him overcame me, and before weighing out the consequences, I had already popped over to his living room, once more, without warning.

* * *

When I arrive, I notice that Harry is already in his living room, which saves me the awkward trouble of nosing around his house attempting to find him.

He looks up at me, obviously startled by my sudden appearance. "Ginny! I had no idea that you were planning on coming by at…three in the morning."

I feel a blush rise to my cheeks; I had forgotten that it was the middle of the night. "Oh, God, I'm sorry. I didn't realize that it was so late…I'll just go then."

"No, I mean, it isn't as though I was asleep or anything. I just wasn't expecting you. Please, have a seat."

"Thanks. I'm sorry; again, I am just the biggest ditz anymore."

"No problem." We sit in silence for a few moments before he moves from his spot on his chair, to sit next to me. "Is something wrong, Ginny? I mean, not that I am not more than happy to have you…at three in the morning…but I can't think of why you would be here if something wasn't the matter."

"Maybe I just wanted to see you," I say indignantly.

He gives me a pointed look. "At three A.M.?"

"Fine. I…I went to a bar tonight—"

"You're drunk?"

"No, you imbecile, do I _look_ drunk? Anyway, I went to a bar and ran into Dean—"

"Thomas?"

"_Yes_. Will you let me finish?"

"Sorry, go on."

"So I ran into Dean, and I went back to his house with him to talk. And…he kissed me."

Harry looks solemn. "I see. So…you and Dean are…together?"

"No. You see, he kissed me, and the only thing I could think about…was you."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

He smiles at me, "So what does this mean?"

"I don't know. I just didn't want to stay at Dean's any longer, and the only place that I could think to come to was here."

"I see. Do you want to stay with me tonight then?"

I should have known that underneath his innocent exterior Harry was just like every other male. "You are not getting laid tonight, Potter."

His eyes widen, "I didn't mean it that way. I just meant that you could sleep here if you wanted to…"

"Oh." Once again, I feel my face growing hot in his presence. Now that I have established myself as some sort of pervert in Harry's mind, my evening is truly complete. "If you don't mind," I finally say, "that would be nice."

"Of course, you can stay in one of the guest rooms."

I nod and follow him up the stairs and into a room that is very…blue. I suppress the urge to shudder as he smiles and leaves me to 'do whatever it is that I need to do'.

I dig through the drawers and pull out a t-shirt and pair of shorts that obviously belong to Harry, and put them on to sleep in. I pop back into the living room to say goodnight to Harry and make my way to the bed, which is, blissfully, far more comfortable than its horrid blue coloring would suggest.

I know that I will finally gain a good night's sleep, without—please, God—nightmares of marriage and children. I feel confidant that I will wake with a new outlook on life, and will be prepared (for the first time ever) to face a day of work with the twins.

Unfortunately for me, though, things never go that simply; and the fact that I wake up a few hours later in Harry Potter's arms is going to take me quite a while to explain.

* * *

A/N- Oh, the whole part in the beginning of the chapter about furniture and what not…I know zip about things of that nature. I was told that John Widdicomb is an expensive old brand of furnishing and decorating. If it turns out that this brand actually sucks, well just pretend that it doesn't, lol, because I'm too lazy to find out for myself.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed last chapter, and I do apologize for taking a month to update…shame on me. I am going to try to finish this up before school starts, so hopefully I'll be updating again soon. Review please! And don't forget to point out the Austen Powers quote if you found it.


	10. You Can See By the Way I Walk

Unconventional Commitments

Chapter Ten

You Can See By the Way I Walk...

This is so not my fault. I am not in Harry's bed, Harry is in my bed. Er…well, technically, my bed is Harry's bed, since it is his house, his guestroom, his money that furnished it and all that…but for the night this was meant to be my bed to sleep in. Alone.

But I am not alone, in fact, I am far from it. Not only is someone else in this bed, they are currently smothering me. Literally smothering me, I think that I might die of suffocation if he doesn't get off of me!

With this thought I roughly shove Harry to the side. This let me tell you, is no easy task. That boy is definitely not a lightweight. Too many years of Quidditch or something, I suppose.

I simply shrug as he groans loudly and melodramatically places a hand to his forehead.

I give him his standard three seconds to fully awaken and surmise the situation. It is actually quite humorous to watch him come to the realization that, for once, this is not my fault, nor that of alcohol. It's entirely him. A nice change, I must say.

"Uh, Ginny…what in the bloody hell is going on?"

I smile at him sweetly, "I was hoping that you could explain that to me, Harry. You see, this is the room that you provided for me for the night. My room. My bed. I have every right to be in here, whereas you…not so much."

He looks thoughtful for a moment. "It's my house." Well, shit, if he wants to be anal about the whole thing.

I hop out of the bed with much more spirit than I am used to having in the mornings. For once, I am fully clothed (thank God) and am not in the least bit hung over. Yes, today is a good day.

"Well," I say cheerfully, "I'll just be off then. I have work this morning, as I am sure you do as well. Goodbye, Harry dear."

I attempt not to laugh at the look on his face. I will not openly mock poor, confused Harry…

"But…Ginny! How did I…"

"I wouldn't know, of course. Maybe you sleepwalk?"

His eyes widen.

"Oh, and I thought that you would like to know," I add helpfully, "that you talk in your sleep as well. I must say, Harry…I never knew that you felt that way about bananas. Downright disturbing if you ask me." I shudder dramatically before disapparating.

Okay, so I do feel a tad guilty about the banana comment. It was kind of cruel; I mean Harry is probably sitting there wondering what the hell he would say about fruit. And after a moment he'll jump to the conclusion that he was not talking about fruit, but something that looks like a banana. Then he'll flip out because there is no reason for him to talk, or think, about things like that. Then he'll worry that he's gay…

I can't help it, even if I do feel guilty; it's still funny as hell. I finally shrug it off; I'll just assure Harry on a later occasion that he is not gay.

After showering and dressing I apparate outside the twins shop and for the first time in months—perhaps the first time ever—I feel almost happy to be at work. Shocking, I know.

Whistling out of tune, I walk in and immediately duck to miss the giant spider that drops down every time that the door opens. Note to self: must find a way to get Ron to come into the shop.

I nod at Lee who is currently standing/hiding behind the register, sniggering to himself as he watches a boy no older than five innocently picking up a piece of candy from the dish. Sighing at Lee, I quickly walk over to the boy and gently take the candy from him, while replacing it with a piece of non-poisoned candy from my pocket.

I raise a disapproving eyebrow at Lee before walking into the back of the store, where I know I will find the mad scientists.

"Ginny! Gred, look at that…Ginny, our sister Ginny, is here. At work. Before nine 'o clock."

"I see, Forge. Positively astonishing…"

"Well," I respond, "I find that it is much easier to wake up in the mornings when I have a purpose to be up. Such as…oh, I don't know…beating up two redheaded twins that don't know when to keep their mouths shut at family dinners?"

I walk over to their table and pull up a chair. "No need to look quite so frightened, boys. Really, it wouldn't kill you to buck up a bit…I have no intentions of harming a single hair on your heads at the present moment. I have no desire to break a nail…No, the real reason why I am up and here so early is that I truly did wake up pleasantly this morning. I must say, there really is no better feeling than waking up in the arms of a man, don't you agree? Actually, don't answer that, if you do agree, that is the sort of thing I don't want to know."

Smirking at their now open mouths, I strut out back to the sales floor in a style a la Tony Manero. I must remember to thank Colin for forcing me to watch Saturday Night Fever. At least he was good for something. Though, I must confess, it did give me worries about his…er, masculinity that he would adore a movie such as that. Not that I am prejudiced, because I'm not…I just don't want anyone that I am going with to be a pouf. For that matter, even someone who I have at one time went out with…it doesn't put me in the best light.

No matter though…I'll only worry about that if Colin does turn out to be…you know. Which, I'm sure that he's not. I mean, just because he's keen on 1970s John Travolta, that doesn't mean a thing. Right.

* * *

It takes me all of ten minutes to recall why I normally dread coming to work. It is _so_ unbelievably boring in there. Seriously, you would think that a joke shop of all places would be interesting to work in, but it isn't.

You know why it's so boring? Because no one ever comes in! Fred and George successfully frightened off all their customers with their various pranks that amused them at first, but after seeing the plunge in their sales, they find it less hilarious.

At least before I could see someone turn into a penguin every so often. Now if customers do want something, they order by mail. Of course, on Hogsmeade weekends, this is an entirely different story. But those don't come around that often…

And sure, on regular weekends the braver souls will still venture in…but it's a Monday morning. The only chance of anyone coming in is the stray five-year-old that wanders from his mother. Oh well, at least I'm getting paid to just sit here.

As I was contemplating ways to get Ron to walk through the shop's front door, someone else did. I look up in surprise, and then immediately begin to laugh, for they have failed to get out of the spider's way.

My laughter stops, however, when I notice that the customer is Dean. Damn…I thought that I was done with Dean Thomas for at least another five years. Not that I am not just thrilled to see an old friend, of course; it's just that it is unprofessional to have visitors while working. Yeah, that's it.

"Umm…Welcome to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes?"

He appears relieved. "Ginny, I'm glad that it's you."

"I know what you mean. I'm glad it's me as well."

He stares at me blankly. "Oh. Uh, well anyway I came to see if I could take you out to lunch, to make up for my truly atrocious behavior the other evening."

"It's nine-thirty in the morning."

Dean looks down at his watch, "So it is. Breakfast then?"

I shrug. "Why not?" After all, never turn down a free meal. "Just give me one second." I grab my wand before I open up the door to the back room and poke my head in. "I'm leaving; I'll be back in like an hour."

"Leaving? You just got here," Fred protested.

I shoot all three an impatient look. "I have been here for four hours. Don't you think that I deserve a bit of a break?"

"Four hours?" George echoes. "You've been here a half an hour. If that."

"I got here at nine."

"Yeah, and it's—" he gives way to utter incredulity when he glances at the clock, which I changed by way of magic two seconds prior. "It's one 'o clock…"

"Well, I cannot help it that the three of you have been back here playing around while I covered all the customers…I suppose time flies when you're having fun. But I wouldn't know, as I have been working."

"Uh…sorry, Ginny."

"Yeah, take a break."

I smirk at Dean as I walk back onto the sales floor, and lead him out the door.

* * *

"So," Dean begins conversationally over coffee, "I think that Lavender and I are broken up."

"You think?"

"Well, I was quite pissed…so I cannot be sure. But I attempted to floo her this morning, and she told me 'Sod off, you bloody wanker,' so that sounds like we're done."

"Oh. I suppose that is one way to go about breaking up with someone."

He smiles cheekily, "Yep. And I have you to thank, Ginny. Really, I don't think that I would have gathered up the gall to do it if I hadn't—"

"Gotten wasted?"

"Well that, and spoken to you. You made me realize that not all girls are…Lavender."

"Ah, well my goal in life has been successfully completed then. Kudos to me."

Dean leans closer to me over the table. "This is what I mean…you're like a mate. But you're a girl."

"Two keen observations, Dean."

He continues on, "You are just the whole package, Gin. And I…like you. Really like you."

Uh-oh, uncomfortable territory. Going behind enemy lines here… "I like you too," I say carefully. "You're a really good _friend_."

"Is that what we are?"

"I like to think so."

"So that's how it is, huh? I'm your friend and…Potter? is your boyfriend?"

"I didn't say that. Dean yesterday was the first time we've even spoken in years…I think that you need to rationalize a bit."

"Maybe. Or maybe the spontaneous Ginny that I used to know needs to come out and play."

"Look, I think it'd be best for me to go. I really do hope that we can be friends, Dean, I'd like that. But…we aren't going to 'play' if you catch my drift. Friendship is all Spontaneous Ginny can offer at the moment."

He gives a small smile. "Friends is fine with me, Gin."

I stand, and he follows suit. I can't help but feel a little sorry for him, so I reach out and give him an extremely _friendly _hug.

But, of course, my entire life has to be one huge dramatic ball…

I hear the words, "Well…all right then," followed by the slamming of a door. Of course, I look up to see what is going on, and who should be walking out the door other than Harry James Potter?

Isn't life just peachy bloody keen?

I flash Dean an apologetic look before sprinting out onto the street, catching up to Harry quickly, as he didn't get very far.

"Harry…Harry, stop for a second!"

He whirls around and looks far angrier than I expected. "You want me to stop? How about you stop, Ginny? Stop playing your games!"

"Games? Harry, you don't understand—"

"No, Ginny, the problem is that I do understand. God, I was so stupid…you know, last night I thought that maybe you felt the same way about me that I feel about you…but you don't. You never have, and you never will. Maybe it's some psychological attention thing from growing up in a big family…I don't know. But you are in constant need of male attention! No one is good enough for you, are they? Not me, not Colin, not Dean…"

"It isn't like that. I mean, yes, it used to be…but nothing was happening with Dean."

"Let me tell you what it is like, Ginny. I like you…a lot. There, I said it. I like you, I have went out of my way to be around you, I am behind on work because I'm too bloody busy thinking about you, and planning out some way to get you to go on an actual date with me. I finally had a bit of hope this morning, only to find you with Dean Thomas, when you told me that you had to go to work. So you obviously lied to me so that you could go see Dean again, even though you lead me to believe that you would rather see me. Guess you're just never satisfied."

"But…" I stop suddenly. Why should I have to explain myself to him? We are not anything; it isn't as though we are going out. And if he likes me half as much as he says he does, then he should trust me!

"Fine, Harry. If that's what you want to think, then go ahead. I'm some sort of sex-crazed floozy that needs at least three boyfriends at once. You've pegged me to a tee." Without another word, I disapparate, feeling uncommonly sad.

* * *

A/N- Angst…now there's something new. Lol! Oh, I must say…some of your reviews had me cracking up with your guesses for the Austin Powers quote. But nice to know that you think that my lines are worthy of AP. Seriously though, go rent Austin Powers 1-3 again…it's worth the money.

The quote was from Austin Powers in Goldmember and was "Stick that in your pipe and smoke it." Said by Dr. Evil in the minimum security prison scene. Good job to **Diocletian**, **RussellGrl15**, and **Dangerously Non-Existent**. You all win…uh ten bonus points? Wow, that's the worst prize ever.


	11. Ice Cream is a Girl's Best Friend

A/N—No one is allowed to bitch about long updates. Three days people, _three_ days…quick, someone give me a high-five. No one? Fine…be that way.

Unconventional Commitments

Chapter Eleven

Ice Cream is a Girl's Best Friend

Men are the vilest creatures on the planet. They are not worthy to live any longer…

Or, such is the train of my thoughts as I divulge myself in the wonders of chocolate peanut-butter ice cream. Suddenly, I look down at my attire and realize that somewhere in the course of the past four hours I have changed into a cotton button-up nightgown that belongs in my mother's closet.

My hair is a disaster, I haven't even washed it yet today…There is something wrong with this picture! I almost appear as if I am in some sort of mourning. This isn't me…

Now thoroughly disgusted with myself, I throw the carton of ice cream aside and stalk off to my room. I am not some lovesick female that sobs into a container of ice cream. Though, I would like to point out, that I had yet to sob.

I am not pathetic. And I refuse to act as such. I mean, Harry and I were not even anything at all…I have no reason to be anything close to depressed. I finally have Harry off of my back on the whole relationship thing, I should be beyond ecstatic.

So, that's it. From now on, I am happy. So bloody happy that my face is going to hurt from smiling so much.

Now, what is the best way to feel as happy as I am forcing myself to be? I could go back to work and sic Fred and George on Harry. I think that would make me very happy indeed.

God, I'm confused.

I wander back to the kitchen and throw myself in the chair. As I make a grab for the ice cream once more, the front door opens. I tilt my chair back, Hermione is here.

"Ginny?" she calls.

"In here, 'Mione."

She walks into the kitchen and looks nearly as disgusted as I feel. "Are you dying?"

I stare down into the ice cream, "Not to my knowledge, no."

"Then what excuse could you possibly have to present this overly-pathetic scene?"

I sigh and push the ice cream back away with reluctance.

"C'mon, Ginny, you are the last person that I expected to find in the clichéd position of sobbing over junk food."

"I was _not_ crying."

"You might as well have been."

I shrug before standing. "I think that I'm going to go take a shower."

"All right," Hermione agrees, "but do make sure that afterwards you put on something…normal. Where did you get that thing anyway?"

"Mum gave it to me."

She rolls her eyes, "Well, she gives you all those jumpers as well, but I never see you wearing them."

I glare and walk out of the room. Frankly though, I'm surprised that I didn't think of taking a shower before. I adore showers…the fresh-clean feeling that you get afterwards is unbeatable. This is why I normally look for excuses to take more than one a day.

Unfortunately, this habit leads to rather expensive water bills…oh well. Hermione insists on turning on every light in the apartment at all times, I take long and multiple showers. It all evens out. It took me forever to get used to Muggle billing systems, as well. Hermione must have explained to me six dozen times why we have to pay for things like water and lighting. Yet another reason to live in the Wizarding World, I reasoned to her. Oh well. You get used to it after a while, I suppose.

After wringing out my damp hair with a towel, I change into "normal" clothes before going back out to the living room, where I know that Hermione will be waiting. If she left work to come talk to me, there's little chance of her leaving until she gets her lecture out.

Speaking of work…eh, not like Weasley's Wizard Wheezes is especially dear to me. What are Fred and George going to do, fire me? Yeah, that'd go over well with Mum.

Hermione is sitting in a chair in her "professional" pose. You know; the one that is supposed to intimidate you, but really just makes you want to laugh. I, however, smartly resist the urge to snicker, and sit opposite of her.

"Ginny," she begins as she clamps her hands together; "I had a discussion with Harry this morning."

"Really?" I say with feigned curiosity, "how intriguing. Do tell more."

She purses her lips together. "Do not simulate ignorance; you know very well why I wish to speak with you. I am missing a meeting, you know."

"That is horrid, Hermione. I don't want to lecture you, but work is extremely important. And getting ahead as a woman in the business world is no easy task, skiving off meetings to come have girl-chat with me is simply irresponsible."

She starts to laugh, but then catches herself. Covering herself by clearing her throat, she continues. "I warned you of this, Ginny. Now poor Harry is heartbroken and you are—"

"Pitifully moping about the house?"

She takes a moment to consider this. Could it be that this is, for once, not floozy Ginny's fault? Shock of the century…

"I'm being judgmental, aren't I?"

"Just a touch so. I didn't break Harry's heart, 'Mione…at least, not purposefully. I cannot help it that the boy is emotionally unstable."

"He said that you were 'frolicking' with Dean Thomas."

"He actually used the word frolicking?"

"Yes."

"Wow…Should I go find some bunny ears to wear? I mean, I wasn't aware that people actually use that word." She shrugs. "Listen, Harry picked the wrong time to walk into the coffee shop, and the wrong conclusion to jump to. Yes, I was with Dean…but because he asked me out to breakfast so that he could apologize to me. I was leaving, went to give him a hug before I left, and that is the moment that Harry walked in."

"Right when you were hugging Dean?"

"Yes. And then he stormed out in a tiff."

"How…passé."

"See, that's what I thought. Very movie-ish, right?" A long pause ensues. "So…what should I do then?"

"Ginny," Hermione sighs, "last night I asked Ron if it was all right for me to leave my toothbrush at his flat, and he looked as though he was about to cry from anguish. I am really the wrong person to come to for relationship advice. I wish you luck, but I really should get back to work."

"Right. Well, I'll see you tonight then."

"You aren't going out?"

"I have intentions of moving off the couch."

"All right, then. Goodbye, Ginny."

"Later."

* * *

I really meant it when I said that I had no intentions of moving off of the couch. Because, it is now three hours later, and I am still here…

I raise my arm up, just to make sure that I still can.

This is, quite possibly, more pathetic than the ice cream and nightgown stage. Wonder when Hermione will come back…

I am contemplating the possibility of going out, when there is a knock on the door. Now, this leads to a dilemma, because to see who is at the door would require me to actually get up…but I am extremely bored, and even if it is a door-to-door salesman, the company would still be nice.

My boredom wins out as I drag myself to the door. I open it up, and it's Harry. Of course, this is the next part of any romantic comedy worth its salt. He is here to apologize for being rash, it is my duty to forgive him, and then we shall kiss.

Next thing you know we'll be married.

"Harry," I acknowledge shortly.

"Ginny," he responds. "Are you busy?"

"As a matter of fact I am. Being the typical all-around slag, I am, of course, in the middle of an afternoon delight. Drop by later, I may be able to squeeze you in."

"I never thought that you were a slag…"

"Oh, so that's why you thought that I would be with you in the morning, and then on the verge of sleeping with Dean a few hours later. That makes perfect sense, thanks so much for clearing it up."

"Well what would you have thought?"

"One, I would have gave you the benefit of a doubt. Two, I would have realized that I have no claims on you. We are not anything, Harry, besides friends that ended up having an unusual one-night-stand. Even if I were messing around with Dean—which I am not—then that would be no business of yours."

"So that is what you think of me then? I'm just that drunken mistake that you made?"

"Oh, God, Harry, please don't be so melodramatic. What do you want? You want me to suddenly and uncharacteristically fall in love with you? You told me that you liked me…well, obviously not. You like some version of me that you imagined in your mind. If you liked _me_ then you would not even contemplate the idea of you and me going out. I know how the story goes…we would go out, have a bit of fun, and then break up. That's how it always goes; there is no point to the process. It only wastes time and emotions."

"When did you become such the pessimist on relationships?"

"Since always."

"That isn't what I remember…"

"Harry, what you remember is some lovesick eleven-year-old who worshipped the ground that you walked on. You know what I remember? I remember fantasizing about this hero, in the form of the scrawny Boy-Who-Lived, coming and whisking me away to my happily ever after. But I grew up, and grew out of that. And that is, in part, thanks to you. I'm not trying to make you feel guilty or anything of the sort, but you ignored me whenever possible, and were embarrassed by the attentions that I attempted to give to you. In all honesty, I really thank you for it, because living for the considerations of a man is a useless existence."

"There is a difference though," Harry says after a moment, "between living for the considerations of a man, and disregarding them all together…"

"And that is when we get to The Dean Thomas Fiasco, as I have come to know it. I really liked Dean, you know. He…replaced you in my mind. I had become somewhat of a cynic before Dean, but after…after he left so abruptly, and gave up on me so quickly…I became much more contemptuous."

"That's sad, Ginny," he bluntly observes.

I shrug. "Yeah, well that's life."

"I want for you to give me a chance. I am not the same fool that was embarrassed by the act of you liking him…"

"You aren't listening, Harry. I don't think that I can. There are those who are perfectly fine with being smothered by a relationship…and then there's me."

"I like you though, Gin. Even with the relationship phobia, lose tendencies, the excessive drinking, and the temper. And I'm not asking for any sort of 'smothering' relationship. Jesus, I'm not some needy child, you know. And I'm not asking you to change—"

"But you are. If you want me to be your girlfriend, then you are asking me to change."

He sighs. "Well what do you want from me, then?"

"I don't want anything from you, Harry. I just don't need someone to like me in spite of the bad points…I need someone to like me because of things. I know my faults all too well, having you list them off for me and then attempting to start some sort of connection immediately after is ludicrous."

"So I-I guess I should go then…"

"If you want to."

He gives me an almost painful look. "Goodbye, Ginny."

I close the door and lean back against it. "Goodbye, Harry."

* * *

A/N—Hmm…well that wasn't that humorous. There will be less angst sometime in the future. And, yes, I am being purposely vague, because I have no clue when, lol. But y'all need to need to review, because that was a damn quick update, lol! Still waiting for someone to high-five me by the way...

Oh, and **RussellGrl15** and **RonandHerm4eva** get cyber-cookies for whining. Lol, I think that imaginary bonus points are a perfectly suitable prize.


	12. Yet Another Random Family Gathering

A/N—Okay, I get it…Ginny was being a bitch. But, she did not say anything at all that I myself would not say. Hell, half of it I have said. But, I am a bitch, so there you go…

Gah. I'm in a bad, bad mood. Wedding rehearsal in two hours, then I am…I don't know. Perhaps I'll go get drunk. Yes, that sounds fun. Someone pass me a Bacardi. Preferably Bacardi Razz to get drunk faster, but Silver or O would do as well. Er, not that I know anything about alcohol…nope, nothing at all. I'm underage, so therefore would never, ever do anything against the law. Ha-ha.

Oh, and it isn't my rehearsal, just in case anyone got that impression. I'd really have to shoot myself if that were the case.

Unconventional Commitments

Chapter Twelve  
Yet Another Random Family Gathering

Harry is gone…and here I am, back on the couch.

There is absolutely no way that that boy will attempt to start a relationship with me now. Which is a very good thing? Right, of course it is.

I hear the door start to open, and sit halfway up to greet Hermione.

"You will not believe what happened at work today!"

I have to smile back at the goofy-happy look on her face. "You got promoted?"

"Better."

Better than a promotion? In Hermione's world, a promotion is better than sex. "Umm…the entire royal family suddenly and unexpectedly died, and you are now the Queen of England?"

"I'm not sure if it's better than that…" she shakes her head and walks over to the couch, with her left arm extended.

My jaw drops; there is a huge diamond on Hermione's left ring finger!

"Oh my…"

"I know! And you won't believe how it happened—"

"You are engaged to Ron, right?"

"Yes, of course."

"The same Ron that flipped over the idea of your toothbrush being left at his place?"

"Apparently, that's what gave him the idea. He comes into my office today and starts pacing around and acting strangely; so I ask him what is wrong, and he says 'Do you still want to leave your toothbrush in my apartment?' Of course, this is the last thing I expected him to say, so I say, 'I don't know. Do you want me to leave my toothbrush there?' To which he says, 'Yes. Hermione, ever since you mentioned it, I realized that…that I'm ready to take that next step with you—"

"What step is that, the toothbrush step?"

She ignores me, and continues, "So then he gets down on one knee, and pulls a small black box out of his pocket. He looks up at me, with the most anxious expression, and says 'Hermione, I love you. And nothing would please me more than to have you and your toothbrush in my life forever. Will you marry me?"

I clamp a hand over my mouth to stop from laughing. "He…ahem, he proposed to you _and _your toothbrush?"

Hermione glares as if to dare me to laugh at her proposal.

"No, it's sweet, Hermione. A very Ron thing to do. So you're getting married then?"

She smiles once more, "Yes! You're the first person I've told, actually, we're having everyone over to the Burrow tonight so we can announce it, so you have to come. And, I…I wanted to ask you…will you be my Maid of Honor?"

"Umm," I stall. God, I hate being Maid of Honor; I've done it three times all ready. Bloody boring task. One look at her happiness though, and I cave. "Yes, of course I will! Thank you so much for asking—"

"Oh, don't put on an act, Ginny. I know that you hate being in wedding parties; but I want you there all the same. A 'yes' is enough for me, no need for the 'I am so honored' speech."

Damn. I had forgotten that Hermione was the one whom I have complained to the previous three times that I was delegated with the task. So who can I bitch to now? This is sad.

"Ron's over at Harry's right now," she continues. "He is going to wait for me though, so we can tell him together…so I better go, because Ron is not good at keeping secrets."

I can practically hear the warning bells going off in my head. "So Ron is going to ask Harry to be his Best Man then?"

"Of course he is, he wouldn't very well ask anyone else, now would he? Well, be at the Burrow at seven. Bye, Gin!"

She disapparates before I have opportunity to respond. Shit…I should have known that Ron would ask Harry to be his Best Man, but somehow it just didn't factor to me.

The Maid of Honor and Best Man get thrust together at every possible opportunity. They sit together, they stand together, and they dance together. Double shit. There goes the brilliant idea of avoiding Harry until it isn't awkward between us. Maybe it'll be a very long engagement and Harry will find someone new and it won't be awkward…

I sigh and walk back to the bathroom, little chance of that happening—my luck simply is not that good. If I am spending an evening with my family and Harry then I am just going to have to clean my woes away.

* * *

My shower, quite possibly, set some kind of world record on time. Taking the world's longest shower takes (duh) time…so I am, er…kind of late to dinner.

I feel horrible, really I do. I had every intention of at least beating Ron and Hermione there, but I didn't even make it in time for their announcement. Apparently, I wasn't worthy enough to wait upon. Which is fine with me, but the lecture I know am I going to receive—based upon the look on my mother's face—isn't as fine.

"Ginny!" she screeches as she all but runs over to me. "Where have you been?"

"Well, actually I—"

"Never mind. You just missed your brother's and Hermione's announcement."

"I'm sorry. But, I all ready know that they are getting married…so maybe they won't mind?"

"And how do you know that they are getting married?"

"Hermione told me."

Uh-oh…wrong thing to say. Good going, Ginny.

"They told you before they told me?"

"Umm, no? I guessed. Yeah, it turns out that I'm a Seer, good for me, right?"

She sighs. "Well, at least you know. Come on, we're getting ready to eat."

I follow her into the kitchen, and I discover that everyone else has all ready been seated. I bite down on my lip—the only available chair is beside Harry on the end. With no other choice available, I sit next to him.

"Hello, Harry."

He gives me a cold stare, "Ginny."

"So…exciting news, huh?"

"I'm surprised that you would think so. With your views on matrimony I'd think that you wouldn't want anyone to be married. That way everyone can be as miserable—excuse me, I mean happy—as you."

And just what am I supposed to say to that? I laugh nervously, "Good one."

"I wasn't aware that I had made a joke."

Okay, the whole unblinking I-would-use-an-Unforgivable-on-you-if-I-knew-I-wouldn't-get-caught look is getting a bit creepy.

"I think I have to go to the bathroom," I say quietly before getting up from the table. Maybe when I come back someone else will have gotten up and I can steal their seat…

In the bathroom I stare at myself in the mirror. Harry's right, I am miserable. I mean, I've always thought of myself as rather pretty. Not to be vain or anything, but some boys at Hogwarts risked a lot of bodily harm to date me—so I figured I must be somewhat good-looking, right? But I don't feel pretty at the moment. I have bags under my eyes and my entire face just looks sad. Even my normally vibrant red hair seems to be a duller color than normal.

Oh, God. From the state of misery I shall move on to depression and overall bitterness. And then I will be this ninety-year-old lady that has no friends, no family, and seventy cats.

I gasp and turn away from the mirror. What is worse, marriage or seventy cats?

I don't really like cats…

No. Being single has been my lifelong ambition; I will not rethink it just because stupid Harry thinks I'm miserable. I am not unhappy; I am more than content with my life. He's the one that's depressed, not me.

I walk out of the bathroom and start to go back to the kitchen, but stop. I don't want to go back in there…

I sigh and end up back in my old bedroom. The room itself makes me flinch, it's so…pink. I sit down at the small desk and open up one of the drawers, which immediately makes me laugh because I had forgotten about the things that I shoved in these drawers.

There's a stack of pictures that are nothing other than random shots of Harry at Quidditch practice, taken from my safely hidden position behind the bleachers on the night that I stole Colin's camera.

As I am smiling at my pathetic youth, the door creaks open. It's Harry.

"Your mum sent me to find you," he says quietly.

Well, at least he appears less disgruntled now. "All right. I'll be out in a minute."

He nods and starts to leave, but then turns back. "Are you okay?"

"Fine. I just figured that my miserable self wasn't welcome at the table any longer."

"Don't try to make me feel guilty."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

He walks over to me and catches sight of one of the pictures, "What's all that?"

I hand him the stack, "It's you."

"Why do you have all of these?"

I shake my head, dumb question Harry. "Remember a certain eleven-year-old obsession?"

"Yeah, but why do you still have them?"

"Because I like to stalk you in my free time," I say sarcastically. "I had forgotten that they were in there, obviously."

"Oh. Would you mind if I kept some of these? I don't have all that many pictures of myself from the early years of Hogwarts."

"Take them all—except," I make a grab for the one that features Harry laughing as he flies, "for that one."

He gives me a strange look. "Well…thanks."

"No problem. Hey, Harry? Are you…are you really angry with me?"

Harry sighs. "I want to be. I want to call you a heartless bitch and storm out, but I don't think that I can do that."

"Do you think that I'm going to end up with seventy cats?"

"Do I think what?"

"Never mind. Do you think that things will always be awkward between us?"

"I don't know. That's up to you, I suppose. You know where I stand when it comes to us, Gin. Next move is up to you."

My mouth nearly falls open. "You still want to be with me?"

"You think that one self-righteous rant is going to scare me off? I told you that I like you, I meant it. But I don't fancy putting myself on the line again, Ginny. When you make up your mind, you know where to find me."

"But—"

He heads back to the door, "We better go back out there before your mum sends out a search party."

I silently follow him out into the hall, more confused than ever.

Will nothing stop him from liking me?

And, more importantly, do I even want him to?

* * *

A/N—Sorry that it's short, but I really have to get to this damn rehearsal thingie…and I wanted to post so that I could impress myself once more with my quickness. And apparent lack of life…lol!

Umm, so this was less angsty, right? And Ginny wasn't that bitchy, lol.

I think I'm in a slightly better mood now. Ah, the wonders of writing. Review please!


	13. A Black Cat

A/N—Oh, blast it all. I had this chapter written. I had it all done but like two paragraphs and wouldn't you know it, my computer crashes. Congratulations to me, I caught the newest and most harmful virus. Christmas has come early.

If you read some other stuff by me, you all ready know this…but I'm still pissed about it, so yes, I'm going to rant some more. This particular story was really hard to get out, because as stated in other A/N, I despise rewriting. It was boring and took me forever. That, and college has been kicking my ass lately.

Unconventional Commitments

Chapter Thirteen  
A Black Cat (Chapter title has nothing to do with actual chapter. But does have something to do with chapter number. Lol, I've had too much coffee…)

If I had one wish in life it would be for simplicity. Everything is always so complicated, for once it would be nice to just have things fall in place, you know?

If I had two wishes, the second would be to just erase the past few weeks of my life. Actually, make that my first wish…because if I got rid of these past weeks, simplicity would be granted.

No confusion, no possibility of a relationship…yes, life would indeed be peachy.

Except, while peachy, life would also be boring. Because without the prospect of randomly waking up in an unknown bed, is life really worth living? Er…okay, so that makes me sound like a complete slag. But that isn't what I meant, just saying that surprises are nice at times. They give you something to look forward to; you never know what tomorrow will bring and all that.

Or, so are my contemplations as I lose myself in chocolate ice cream. That's right; I'm back on ice cream. I attempted to give it up, but when depression rang at my door, it was just too much to resist. This must be what it feels like to be a drug addict…

This blows. Why should I be depressed yet again? Harry left it all up to me, so it is obvious as to what I am going to choose. To stay single, of course. Or maybe to try something with Harry. Wonder if it'd be cheating to flip a coin…

All right, this is ridiculous. I do not want to be with Harry Wanking Potter. I have spent all my time lately devising ways to get out of this potential relationship; I am not going to bloody just jump into it now. This is nothing unusual, actually. I don't _like_ relationships, but I normally go for them all the same.

I mean, I went out with Colin, even though I had virtually no feelings for him. Maybe that's the issue, that I normally have no real regard for my date, so I have no qualms about going out with them. I see no potential risk of attachment and the fact that I am in a relationship keeps my mother happy.

But with Harry…I don't have romantic feelings for him, per se, it's just that…_potentially _he is a threat. For instance, Dean I could have gone for. Both terrified of commitment, both easily bored and distracted…clearly not a relationship that would go anywhere. A dream, really. But I didn't go for him; I backed off because of Harry. I even felt guilty. This is bad, this is _very_ bad. This hasn't happened to me in years—if ever. I mean, the last time I felt like this was with…er, never mind. That particular relationship is not worth bringing up right now.

I don't know what to do about this. I almost want to go on a date with Harry…but if I make the first move then he's going to think that I am just totally committed and that we are going to be together forever and ever and…I just can't deal with that.

Screw it, I'm going to bed.

* * *

I wake up to the unpleasant sound of a loud thumping on the front door. I lay in bed for a good five minutes, contemplating what to do about this particular situation…to go back to sleep and ignore whoever is so desperate to get in, or to get up and permit them entrance. Decisions, decisions…

I finally drag myself up off the bed, it's doubtful that my sleep would be pleasant with all that noise anyway. However, as I am stumbling down the hall, the door is literally blasted open. My mouth falls open, how horribly rude.

As I prepare to yell at the perpetrator I notice that it is Fred and George. Well, that's really just to be expected of them. Still, that doesn't give them the right to go blasting off people's doors, and I told them as much.

"You can't go around just blowing up other people's doors, you know." See, told you…

"Oh, we'll fix it," Fred answers flippantly.

"This is a muggle neighborhood," I continue, "you're just lucky that Hermione isn't here, she'd have your heads."

They glance at each other nervously.

"Damn," Fred mutters.

"The Ministry already doesn't like us," George adds while giving Fred a meaningful look.

"Yeah," Fred says with a laugh, "but I still don't see how it's our fault that someone left our product in the middle of muggle London. I mean, just because our name is on the box the Ministry had to go have a fit over it. I thought Dad was going to burst a vein that day…"

I scowl at them; did they really come here to take a walk down Memory Lane? "Did you have a reason to be here, or just one of those random impulses to go blow up something?"

"You never came back to work!" George says. "And you were scheduled for this morning—"

"No I wasn't."

George produces a piece of parchment, "Oh yes you were. We wrote it down this week."

Crap. No bother, I like a challenge. Besides, they weren't concerned about this last night at the family dinner…Wait a minute; they weren't _at_ the family dinner. "How about we strike a deal? You let me off work today, and I don't tell Mum that you two were out partying last night."

"How did you know—?"

Fred quickly elbowed George in the stomach to silence him. "No deal, you have no proof."

"Do you really want to count on that? Besides, you know that I can be very convincing when I want to be. I'll even tell her about that bottle of Firewhiskey you keep stored at work."

They gaze at me with a sort of pride. "Evil," George pronounces, "our baby sister is well on her way to being an evil genius."

I wink at them, "I learned from the best."

I bite back a laugh as they blush.

"Well, you know, Ginny," Fred says slowly.

"We really don't need Mum in all this, now do we?" George finishes.

"Depends entirely upon you," I answer dismissively. "But for your information, Ron and Hermione announced their engagement last night…that's really the sort of thing that we should all be together for. I'm really disappointed in the both of you." I resist the urge to laugh at the lecture Mum is going to give them next time she sees them. At least I made it for dinner.

"Sorry," they both mumble.

"Don't apologize to _me_," I say in a shrill tone that terrifyingly reminds me of my mother.

"Sorry, Ginny," they say again.

"We'll just go find Ron then," Fred says after a moment.

George nods and they sulk out of my apartment.

I smirk, another day of work complete. Now, to get back to sleep…

I walk back to my bedroom and crawl underneath the covers. I close my eyes but find that sleeping is easier said than done. I shift positions as if this will help...it doesn't. I unconsciously grab my extra pillow and hug it against me as if it is another body. Only, it isn't firm and comforting like…Harry. Oh shit.

I sit straight up, now fully awake. That one has definitely never happened before. I don't even enjoy sleeping with other people (and I do mean _sleeping_, not anything else) I prefer to have the entire bed to myself. For instance, it drives me insane to have people touching me in any way while I am attempting to sleep…it's just creepy.

But now, the thought of Harry being protectively close to me sounds almost appealing. I really think that I might start hyperventilating. God help me, I want to "cuddle" with Harry Potter.

Ladies and Gentlemen: Hell has officially frozen over.

* * *

Sufficient to say, I never got back to sleep. No, instead I spent hours upon hours thinking. Oh, what fun. I'm turning bitter…Not that I wasn't bitter before, but even more so now. Sarcasm has taken over all normal thinking, which is a good thing about half of the time. The other half of the time it just gets me in trouble and contributes to the bitterness. It's a never-ending cycle, really.

But I did come to a few conclusions. So good for me, right? Anyway, I have decided that—drum roll please—I, Ginny Weasley, am going to go on a date with Harry Potter. I'm just going bite the bullet, and go on the date. How bad can it be? I'm just going to go on the date, and be done with the whole thing. I'm sure that after one night as his date I'll feel as if I am about to suffocate, and then I will no longer have this flip-flopping issue. I will be definite about it, there will be no "if." I will be gung-ho on getting out of this relationship.

Of course, as stated, Harry is a potential commitment threat…but I'll just stop the whole thing before it gets deep. Sorry, Harry, but your feelings take second place to my sanity.

I do have one small problem to take care of though before I go about this date business. I still have no front door. Fred and George conveniently forgot to fix it before they left. How generous of them. This actually puts me in a predicament, because if I use magic to fix it then the Ministry gets notified of it. Normally, I wouldn't care, but I all ready have like eighteen warnings and fines from them. Is it my fault it took me a while to get used to the key? Alohomora is just so much easier…

Anyway, my damn door needs fixed. But how exactly does one go about this in the muggle way? That seems vastly complicated.

I stare helplessly at the door. I suppose that I should lift it up. Then nail it back on? Do we have nails? I think that Hermione has a nailer-on gun thingie. But she told Ron and me that we were not allowed touching it or any of her other tools, under any circumstances. Oh well, I'm sure that she won't mind; having a door is important. Besides, how hard can it be to use a nailer thing? Press the button and it goes, right?

So I think that I should find the nail thing first, and then lift the door back into place. Right…I walk back to Hermione's room, not to spy of course, just to search for the gun. I will not peek around the room; I will get the gun, and get out.

I peer into her closet. That appears to be a box on her shelf. Her "toolbox" I think she called it. Okay, so I just need to get a chair and get it—Wait a minute, Hermione's drawer is open. The one that she keeps her diary in…No! Bad, Ginny, bad. I will not read Hermione's diary, because that would be invasion of privacy. Besides, she probably has all kinds of spells on it.

I walk over to her vanity and drag the chair over to the closet. God, I am so proud of myself. How good of a person am I? I am not going to spy on my friend, because that would be wrong. I really feel like I should pat myself on the back.

But back to the box of tools. I lift the box down—no easy task, as that beast is heavy—and sit it on the floor. Let's see…oh, this silver thing looks promising, it has a trigger and everything.

I aim at nothing in particular and pull back on the trigger. A nail shoots out full speed…this is too neat. My father would love this; I'm going to have to buy him one for Christmas. I carry the gun out with me; I am ready to tackle the door situation.

I attempt to lift the door, but it's heavier than the toolbox. I can do this, though, I am not some fragile weak woman, and I am capable of lifting a door. Just give me to the count of three. One…two…thre—

"Ginny?"

Harry. Oh, thank God; I'm not going to have to lift the door by myself.

He looks at my empty doorway in confusion. "Uh, do you know that your door appears to be missing?"

"How observant of you. Fred and George blasted it off, long story. Can you help me put it back up?"

He shrugs, "Sure." Before getting to the door though, he notices the nail gun on the floor. "What's this?" Harry muses before toying around with it. "I think my Uncle used to have one of these, not that he ever let me touch it…"

Okay you give a man a task to do and they always find some way to—Oh shit. Harry just shot off the gun thing. And the nail is in my hand!!!!

Oh, my god, oh, my god, oh, my god….it hurts, it hurts, it _hurts_! I shake my hand around as if this will elevate the pain…big surprise, it doesn't!

"Ginny!" Harry runs over, "Oh, god. I am so sorry, are you okay?"

I have a damn _nail_ through my hand; does he think that I'm okay? Ew, there's blood everywhere…and there's just a nail sticking out of my hand.

I think that I'm going to pass out.

* * *

And, apparently, I did. Because it's now six hours later and my hand is painless and nailess—no thanks to Harry. I cannot believe he shot a nail through my hand. Furthermore, I cannot believe that he left me! I am all alone in the hospital.

He better be out buying me something.

As I'm studying my hand to make sure that there are no scars (I really love magic) the door opens, and Harry walks in. He has flowers. Well, that's a start.

"You're awake," he says in a relieved tone.

"Yes, I lived after all. A miracle, really, considering that someone attempted to kill me by way of nail."

"I can't apologize enough, Ginny. I have no idea how it happened…but I feel so horrible about it." He strides quickly over to me, sitting the flowers on the bedside table. He picks up my hand gently, "Does it hurt? Is there anything that I can do for you?"

I pull my hand away, "It's fine."

"No, it's not. There must be something that I can do to make it up to you. Anything you want, Ginny, just name it."

Now _this_ has some potential.

* * *

A/N—The nail gun thing…you really don't want to know where that came from. Umm…yeah.

Review, please!

Oh, and to **Jessie McDonald**, no this is not related to Someday You'll Love me…but I can see where you'd get that. Thanks for asking though, it's awesome to know that someone was contemplating my stories, lol.


	14. Of Guilttripping and Unexpected Occurren...

A/N—The nail gun did not happen to me…well, not exactly anyway. Lol, I'm not a complete moron. But it did happen to my friend as we were decorating for Prom. See, it was like three in the morning, and she and I were putting up this huge entrance thing that required nails. Well, someone smartly decided that it would be a good idea to give high school students a nail gun…it wasn't. She went a bit crazy with it, and ended up shooting one through her hand. She then proceeded to fling her hand in ever direction, spraying her blood all over my face, and into my eye. Gross, right? Lol told you that you didn't want to know…but a few people seemed to think that I was some sort of an idiot, so I had to clarify. Can't have that sort of reputation now. Oh, and have you ever _seen _men around tools? They lose their damn minds. I know that Harry grew up muggle, but that doesn't mean he's a master of tools. Let's do a poll, who knows how to properly work a nail gun? Would you recognize one on sight?

Unconventional Commitments

Chapter Fourteen  
Of Guilt-tripping and Unexpected Occurrences

I am currently sitting on my couch, propped up by recently fluffed pillows. Life is good. I stare with satisfaction down at my bandaged hand; perhaps this wasn't so horrible after all.

All right, so maybe I was the one that bandaged my hand...but it just gives a showy effect to have it all wrapped up. Without a bandage or cast of some sort, people will forget that you are injured. Using my "good" hand, I ring the small bell that resides on the end table.

Harry rushes in. "Are you okay? Do you need anything?"

"I am rather parched. Could I trouble you for a glass of water?"

"Of course, right away." He leaves for the kitchen; I lean back and make myself more comfortable. This is only stage one, too.

I have to admit, Harry is every inch the gallant hero. All the nurses wasted no time in retelling my tale to me. How Harry popped in with me in his arms—double apparition, no easy trick—shouting out orders right and left. How he paced back and forth, mumbling to himself, while I was laying unconscious in my bed. How he told the nursing staff that he would take on all my bills, and to do whatever possible to make me more comfortable.

Yes, it's all very sweet…almost sickeningly so. No matter, as the resident "baby" of the family, I know how to milk things such as this.

Harry walks swiftly back into the room, triumphantly holding out my glass of water. He leans down next to me, "Here you go. Is there anything else that you need?"

"Well, I—no, it's too much to ask."

"What is it? Nothing is too much, Gin."

I attempt to appear strained. "It's just—you see, Harry, I'm quite lonely. What with you back doing your work and everything…"

"Oh. Well, I guess that I could postpone my work."

"I couldn't ask you to do that, Harry."

"You aren't asking, I'm offering. No, it's fine, Gin. Not a problem at all."

"If you're sure…"

"I am." He sits on the sofa by my feet. We sit in silence for a moment before he automatically takes a hold of my feet and massages the left one gently. This is nice.

See, this is how things should always be. Everyone should have their own personal slave—I mean helper. Right.

I lean into him instinctively; he places his arm around my shoulders. He gives my shoulder a squeeze, I smile up at him. The door opens and my mother storms in. Okay, so which action doesn't belong here?

"Ginny! Oh, thank God, you're alive!"

"All right…Hello to you too, Mum."

She rushes over to the sofa and forces me into a hug, which I awkwardly return. After the hug, she immediately gives me 'the look'. You know that You-are-in-so-much-trouble gaze… "Did I raise my children this way? To just not call your mother when you are lying in the hospital _dying_?"

"Mrs. Weasley," Harry intervenes, "with all due respect…Ginny was hardly in danger of dying."

To which, I glare. How would he know? Did _he_ have a nail stuck through his hand? No. I could have very easily died.

My mother, to the shock of no one, pays little heed to this comment. "Ginny," she continues on, "I just do not know what has gotten into you. I had to hear it from Mary Lucas of all people that my own daughter was in St. Mungos. Are you okay? What happened? How did it happen? Do you need to come back to the Burrow until you recover?"

I press myself against the back of the sofa, attempting to put some distance between my face and my mother's finger. "Umm, well you see, what happened is—is that…"

"I shot her with a nail gun," Harry sighs guiltily. "Accidentally," he amends just as quickly.

My mum gasps audibly, "_Harry James Potter_, I would expect that from Fred or George…or Ron…or Arthur…or even Ginny herself for that matter…but you?"

Harry diverts his eyes to the ground, "Sorry, ma'am."

She tsks at him. "Well you have to be careful with these sorts of things, now. Honestly, Harry, a nail gun is not that complicated of a device."

"Yes, ma'am," he says solemnly.

I roll my eyes; he could stick up for himself a bit. Fine, if he won't do it… "It was an accident, Mum, and now it's over. I'm over it, Harry's over it; there is no need for you to lecture a twenty-four year-old man."

Harry looks at me with wide eyes and a "my hero" expression, as if he weren't the man that defeated Voldemort.

"I still think that it'd do you best to rest at home."

"I am home." Whoops. I did _not_ mean to say that out loud. Oh, shit…this is going to be bad.

"You are home," she repeats slowly. "Well, it is reassuring to know that after nineteen years of caring for you and providing for you under my roof you have a new home now."

"Mum—"

She waves me off, "No, I understand. After all, what do you need me for? I'm only your mother…I only endured twenty hours of pain to bring you into this world. But what does any of that matter? You're an _adult_ now."

I grimace as she puts a condescending emphasis on the word adult. "I didn't mean it like that, you know."

She sniffs indignantly, "I'm sure that you didn't. I think it'd be best for me to leave now."

"It appears that way," I mumble dryly.

Without another word, she stalks out of the house. Needless to say, my mother has become…rather emotional as the years have progressed. I think the war did her in. Too much stress, you understand. When Percy turned against our family she and my father became convinced that we all needed to have close family time—all the time. Of course, Percy turned back and apologized to all of us about halfway through the war…but no matter, she still expects each of us to either betray the family or die if she isn't keeping constant watch over us.

I turn to Harry, "I swear insanity doesn't run in my family."

He smiles, "Yes it does. But I've been publicly accused of insanity enough that I've come to believe it myself…so it works out."

I shrug, "All right, then. I—"

"Ginny," Harry interrupts.

"Yes?"

"I…Don't toy with me, please. I've known you long enough, and seen you with enough men to know that you…you do not stay with the same person for an overly long amount of time. I recall you telling me that you have a fear to commitment, and I understand, I do, but if you have that fear with me…if you have no intentions of this turning into anything, tell me now—it is the only thing that is fair."

I raise an eyebrow at him. The moment was finally upon us, that moment where Harry inevitably asks for more. Damn, I really hate moments like this. You see, I don't _know _where this is going or where I want it to go. Furthermore, I don't even know what "this" is! I'm not saying that I want to begin anything with Harry…but, then again, I'm not saying that I don't want to begin anything with Harry. Damn.

"Ginny?" he says. "An answer sometime today would be nice."

I glance over at him, since when did Harry become a smart-aleck? "I…well, I mean, I guess—we could go on one date."

"One date," he muses with a smile, "generous."

I nod dumbly.

Harry rubs his hands together, "So when shall this one date take place?"

I feel my cheeks burn—since when do I get embarrassed over this sort of thing? "I don't know," I mumble, "whenever."

"Tonight?"

Tonight? Was the kid socially challenged when it came to dates? "That's rather short notice."

"I've been waiting for a while, you know."

"Oh. Well, I—" wait a minute. I do not fall into traps like this. Harry thinks he can trick me? Please, I am the master at this game. "I don't think I can."

"And why is that?"

I hold up my hand, "I don't feel well. You understand I'm sure."

He smirks at my hand, "Your hand didn't seem to bother you a few minutes ago when you picked up your drink with it."

My mouth drops indignantly, "It comes and goes."

Harry stands, "If you say so. I'll pick you up tonight at…oh, say around eight, then?"

"I—wait, I didn't—"

"Seven?"

"Fine!" I yell out of sheer frustration alone.

"Great," he responds with a smile, "see you at seven."

He then disapparates and I am left alone in my ever-present confusion. What the hell? How did _this_ happen? It seriously makes no sense, whatsoever. I mean, I was protesting, I was holding strong, and now…I've been had. Harry has gotten sneaky. Hmm, I kind of like that.

What can I say? I'll take a "bad boy" over a good one any day of the week. If a man is horrible acting I normally find myself strangely attracted to him. Typical female, right? Oh well, I do not have time to worry about such matters, for the shower is singing its sweet tune, begging me to come in. Who am I to deny an inanimate object?

* * *

A/N—Yeah, yeah, it's short, I know. But finals are coming and I am just kind of getting out what I can. I promise that as soon as Winter Break hits I will be a writing machine. Until then, (hopefully) enjoy my short round of updates and review, please.

Also, Go Blow!! Ha-ha, anyone not a fan of American college football probably thinks I'm crazy. Oh well, what can you do? The team up north is going nowhere _near _the Rose Bowl. Lol, my deepest condolences to any Michigan fans.


	15. Is it Possible to Drown Yourself in a Bo...

A/N—Yeah, yeah, sorry about the lack of updating…I had no idea how long it had been until I skimmed my last chapter for ideas and saw the A/N boasting about the OSU win over Michigan—which was a long time ago. I'm still mad that Michigan is _still_ going to the Rose Bowl even after they lost. Stupid Wisconsin. Er, sorry, rambling. Anyway, have no fear because I have a promise to make to all of you who have so faithfully stuck around for the slow process of this story: I swear to finish it by Christmas. I don't even know how many chapters that will take, but I'm on Christmas break and have nothing else to do, so I am finishing it by December 25, 2004. Today is the 14th, feel free to burn me at the stake if I break my promise.

Oh, and one particular scene is dedicated to Heather (ronandherm4eva—my partner in crime) because our weird conversation inspired it. Lol, Merry Christmas, pernongin.

* * *

Unconventional Commitments

Chapter Fifteen  
Is it Possible to Drown Yourself in a Bowl of Soup?

I am seriously about to kill myself. If it weren't for the fact that my grandmother would track me down in the afterlife and lecture me for all eternity for committing suicide, I would do it, I swear.

Harry is the most boring bloody date, ever. I'd gladly take back Colin to get out of this. Hell, I would _marry_ Colin if it meant this night could end. All right, so that's an exaggeration, but you get the point. This is bad. This is I'm not sure if Harry and I can ever talk after this bad.

He won't say anything! He just sits across the table staring at me. It is the oddest thing I have ever encountered. I have a standard rule of thumb with dates, I don't initiate conversation. If you ask me out, then you find some way to entertain me. But Harry has yet to say a thing to me the entire date. I mean it, not even a "Hello, Ginny, you look ravishing." And I'm not about to give up my code, so as far as I'm concerned, we can sit in silence.

Still nothing…wait, wait, he's opening his mouth, this might be it…but, no, he is only yawning. I hope he falls asleep in his soup.

I start to click my tongue against the roof of my mouth in an annoying manner. If he won't entertain me, then I'll entertain myself and be irritating while I do it. He raises an eyebrow to which I click louder. I hope I'm causing a scene and embarrassing him. He smirks and appears to be ready to speak—but instead he just shrugs his shoulders and goes back to eating his soup.

I stop clicking my tongue as it is no longer amusing to me and eye my knife. Sensing that the knife is a bit extreme, I move my gaze to my spoon. Perhaps if I just happen to drop my spoon (and by drop I mean hurl) on his…oh, I don't know, face, then he'll start to pay attention to me!

Fine, forget it. I will be the adult here and start conversation. If he is going to have this little childish game going on, then that is just fine, but I am not about to partake in it.

"My hand hurts," I say after a moment.

He appears surprise, "You _can_ speak. I knew that you had it in you."

"I should be saying the same about you. You have not said one word to me, Harry Potter, throughout this entire date! It is your responsibility to entertain me—I mean to initiate conversation."

"Well," he says slowly, "the way I see it, you always get bored with these blokes that take you out, correct?"

"So you thought the way to end my boredom would be to sit in silence? Good reasoning, Harry, you should really consider going into theoretical science."

"That was not exactly my reasoning. You see, I think that the reason that you feel so trapped by your relationships is because you aren't the one calling the shots. You allow the man to be the dominant figure and then you hate him for it. So, Ginny, this is your test. You initiate conversation, you control the date, and I shall play the role of the girl."

"Are you out of your bloody mind?"

"I assure you that I am of sound body and mind. C'mon, Gin, what do you have to lose? Just try it. You never know, it very well may solve all your pesky little commitment issues."

Pesky little commitment issues? Is that how he views the very bane of my existence? If I could solve my commitment issues life would be wonderful. My mother would finally get off of my back about something! But it is too much to ask. You cannot simply _solve_ commitment issues. They are a part of you, something deeply enrooted in your mind and they are not something that can simply be switched on and off.

By the way, that really irks me when people act like it's otherwise. You know, how if you tell someone that you are afraid of commitment and they just shake their head patronizingly at you and say "Well, just wait until you meet the right person and they'll change your mind completely." Sodd _off_, because that doesn't happen! You don't introduce yourself to someone and then just think "Oh, wow, I don't think that I'm afraid of commitment anymore, let's get married and have six dozen kids." It simply does not happen.

I notice that Harry is staring expectantly at me. I suppose he wants an answer to his 'what have you got to lose' question. I had thought it was rhetorical, but I suppose not. "My sanity," I say finally, "that is what I have to lose."

He waves a flippant hand, "Yes, but you never had that fully to begin with, so will you truly miss it so much?"

"You know, for someone attempting to convince me of something you aren't doing a very good job. Don't you know that flattery, not insults, is the way to a girl's heart?"

"Apparently not as the girl that I have been chasing looks like she would rather drown herself in her soup than talk to me."

Drowning by way of soup! Now, why didn't I think of that? I mean, when I had been contemplating suicide, I had thought I would go to the loo and find some way to hang myself from the ceiling. But drowning yourself in your soup…now that is creative. Just imagine the obituary…

I roll my eyes and pretend that that statement wasn't true five minutes ago, "Oh, do be serious, Harry."

"I am. I really think that it might help you to do a bit of reversing roles."

"Fine, we'll play your stupid little game if it'll make you happy, then. I'll be the guy. Scoot your chair over here so I can grope you while you attempt to eat and then when you get annoyed I'll act like I have the right to be a slimy git because I'm paying for the meal. Only when it comes time to actually pay for the meal I'll discover that I've conveniently left my wallet at home so then I'll ask if you wouldn't mind picking this one up."

"All right, but first let me go to the loo to 'freshen up' for thirty minutes while you sit out here and look like a complete arse whose date has abandoned him. Then when I come back out you can mention something about it taking so long, at which point I shall burst into tears and make a scene about how you don't care about me."

My eyes narrow, "And when you cry I'll just sit here like the insensitive fool that I am because I'm a man and I care for no one but myself! I'll tell you that you are just being girly and to pull yourself together."

"And then I'll be all over you because I, like all girls, flock to guys that treat them like shit."

I take the napkin out of my lap and throw it on the table, "I don't want to 'play' anymore. In fact, I think that I have had quite enough." I stand, "Goodnight, Harry."

He stands with me, "Gin, don't leave. I'm sorry."

"No you aren't. You got just what you want, right? You're right, I am like most girls. If a guy treats me horribly I will most likely stay with him because every girl thinks that she can change the bad boy, mold him into the perfect boyfriend. Or maybe I just like a challenge. I don't know." I laugh sadly, "Why else would I have stayed with Draco Malfoy for so long?"

Harry's jaw drops, "You went out with _Malfoy_?!"

Whoops. I forgot that that particular failed relationship was somewhat of a secret. I wave my hand flippantly, "It's not important." And it really isn't. It was after the whole Dean fiasco…I was upset and wanted to be rebellious. What better way to rebel against my overprotective brothers than to chase (and catch) Draco Malfoy?

Harry, however, now just appears to be confused. I almost feel pity for him. Almost.

"Whatever, Harry. I'm still leaving."

"No, don't. I really am sorry, Ginny, I thought the whole role reversal thing was a good idea, but it obviously struck a nerve with you. I'll be normal, I swear it."

"You're never normal."

"I…but_ Malfoy_, Ginny? You really went out with Sodding Malfoy…did you sleep with him?"

"Oh, God, Harry. It was a long time ago and—"

"You did! You slept with the ferret. How could you?"

"You realize you sound like Ron at the moment and the entire restaurant is staring at us?"

"I do."

"I'm not staying around for this. You can make a scene by yourself." And I don't. I apparate back to my apartment and look around for Hermione. She isn't here. She's never here anymore. Oh well, it isn't as if I miss she and Ron keeping me awake at night.

Predictably, I hear a pop behind me. I figured Harry would come to apologize.

"Malfoy," is the first thing he says and it is still in that same disbelieving tone.

Well, perhaps he hasn't come to apologize. It seems he has just come to rant further and annoy me. Terrific.

"Actually, it's Ginny. But if you want me to attempt to go become a Malfoy I could give it my best shot."

"I just…why didn't you tell me?"

"Because it happened forever ago, you seemed to hate me at the time, and it is none of your bloody business. I doubt Draco even remembers it, really."

"So it's 'Draco' now?"

"Are you aspiring to be Ron? Of course it's 'Draco' do you think we shagged calling each other Malfoy and Weasley?"

"You…shagged, then?"

"Look, Harry, it was a long time ago, and—"

"But you slept with him, Ginny."

"_Yes_. If it is that important for you to hear, then fine, yes we shagged."

"But you slept with me, too."

"Acute observation. I don't know what you're on about, Harry. Is this some weird 'sharing' thing? You don't want your enemy's ex?"

"No—I mean yes. I mean no…I mean I don't know, Gin. I just…it's a surprise, all right? Did anyone know?"

"A few people," I reply tersely. I don't elaborate. I have a feeling that if he knew that Hermione knew about Draco and me and never told him then he would be rather upset with her. Although, I still stand by the reasoning that it is none of his business.

"Why did I never know?"

"Harry, can we drop this, please? I told you already, it is in the past, so far in the past that I can barely remember it. It truly is not important."

"It's important to me."

"_Why_?"

"Because it's Draco bleeding Malfoy…"

I roll my eyes, "If that is your only reasoning then I'm afraid that you have effectively lost this argument."

"C'mon, Ginny, if you suddenly found out that I had slept with…say, Pansy Parkinson then you'd be upset too."

"Not really, no. Pansy isn't so bad looking, you know. I could see where a male would be attracted to her. Now, if you had some long drawn out relationship with her, I'd be surprised. She's a real bitch, that one. Feel sorry for whoever marries her…"

He seems to ignore all of which I just said. "You would too be jealous if I slept with her."

"No, I wouldn't be, Harry."

"Would too."

"Would not.

"Would too.

"Would too."

"Would not."

"You're right, I wouldn't be." God bless muggle cartoons, really. And I never thought I'd say it, but God bless Fred and George for becoming obsessed with the American ones.

"Damn," Harry mutters, "that always gets me."

"It always got Daffy as well, dear."

Harry laughs but then suddenly stops. "You would be upset, though, or at least surprised."

Does he really want to go through this again? "Fine, I'd be a bit surprised, but not upset. I understand that certain things are in the past, such as who we have slept with."

"But I've never slept with anyone else."

"Rotten luck for you, then, but if you had, I assure you that I would be fine with it."

He grumbles and sits down on the sofa. "So who else have you slept with?"

"I think it's a bit late for that conversation."

"No, I want to know."

"No, you don't. I'll tell you, then you'll get angry, and then we'll have this conversation all over again."

Harry shrugs in agreement. "You're right, I suppose. I guess I should go then…"

"If you want to," I say.

"I have work in the morning, so I probably should. This has been…odd, Ginny."

"Pretty much, yes, but I expected nothing less. Owl me later?"

"Of course." He stands and gives me a brief kiss on the cheek. I turn my head and kiss him fully on the lips. "Goodnight, Ginny," he says in a low voice.

"Goodnight, Harry."

* * *

A/N—That was an odd chapter. Oh well. Merry Christmas, all! Or Happy Christmas if you prefer…I know some people that really dislike the phrase Merry Christmas. Supposedly it's weird and an American thing. So if you are one of those people, Happy Christmas, lol. Oh, and Happy Holidays to anyone who doesn't celebrate Christmas. And now I'm rambling…so I'll just end with a plea for everyone to please review!


	16. Of Baboons and Ferrets

A/N—Quick, someone get me some eggnog or something because this is a fast update.

Unconventional Commitments

Chapter Sixteen  
Of Baboons and Ferrots

I go to bed feeling only slightly confused. Well, all right, so I'm more than slightly confused with this…situation. I honestly don't know what to make of the whole thing. I mean, even when Harry and I fight it doesn't seem…real, you know?

We never even resolved our fight. We kissed, said goodnight, and he left. And that felt normal for some reason. In every relationship I've ever been in, a fight is a fight. You stand there and scream at each other until make-up sex occurs.

That's another thing; the make-up sex did not even enter my mind until hours after Harry left. Granted, I am not a complete slag. I mean, it isn't as though I think of sex every minute of the day. It's just that it's a commonly known fact that the entire reason to resolve a fight is to have make-up sex. I won't go into the gory details, of course, but it's something to do with the fresh anger that leads to heat and passion and—well, you get the general idea.

But with Harry, it never entered my mind until after the fact. Which is a very bad thing because this means that whatever odd relationship Harry and I have it is definitely not a sex thing. I've been secretly hoping that it might just be a fling of sorts and we can avoid the awkward relationship drama; but if I am in no way thinking of sex…then it isn't a fling. It means I have somewhere along the line developed feelings and that is a horrid revelation.

It's funny, you know, because Harry wanted to do role-reversal playing. But we've been doing nothing except reversing the clichéd roles. It was me that corrupted virginal Harry. It has been Harry chasing after a relationship and attempting to get me to commit. If anyone has been "girly" about the entire thing, it has been Harry.

So I am left just utterly confused. Why is he still even trying? I've done my best to get rid of him. He knows all my commitment issues…does he not care that I have no desire to have a long-term relationship with him? Unless…

An irrational though occurs to me. What if he has been playing me this entire time? I told him (while he was still halfway sober) about my commitment issues and soon thereafter this entire thing began. What if he saw me as some sort of sick challenge and he has been attempting to "conquer" me ever since? Bastard. I bet that's what he's been up to. Well, I'll show him.

Without a second thought, I apparate over to his house, fully prepared to give him and his player ways a piece of my mind. Only, he doesn't appear to be here. This only confirms my suspicions. He has been playing with me and now he is with someone else, no doubt. I knew that whole virgin line was a lie…

When I see him—oh, wait, a light is on. All right, so maybe I have been overreacting jut a _bit_. I shrug off would-be guilt and walk towards the light. It isn't coming from Harry's bedroom, because I know that that is up the stairs. Ah, bathroom. I walk towards it but stop short…what exactly am I going to tell him?

_Umm, well the thing is, Harry, I thought that you were a heartless git and came here to yell at you. But I might have been wrong, so I'll just go now._ Yeah, because that conversation wouldn't be awkward at all…

Nevertheless, I go to the doorway of Harry's loo. I'm here, aren't I? So I might as well pop in and say hello or something.

However, upon seeing Harry, my mind goes blank. His hand is all bloody!

"Harry," I gasp, "what happened to you?"

He looks at me sheepishly, "I kind of…got in a fight."

"You got in a fight?" I repeat incredulously.

"Yeah, you see—"

The doorbell rings. We stare at each other mutely.

"Are you going to get the door?" I ask after a moment.

"I'm not sure if I want to."

I shake my head at him, "_I'll_ get it then."

"Wait, Gin…" his voice trails off as I head out to the door. It could be important. In fact, it must be important because it is rather late and I'm the only insane person that Harry knows that would just pop in for a chat after polite hours. It could be someone from the Ministry or—

I open the door, though, and find that it is a fist. A fist that just connected with my face and I do believe broke my nose!!! Oww! Jesus, why am I always getting injured around Harry? Who in their right mind would _do_ such a thing! I open my eyes that had closed from pain to see…

"Draco?"

He looks horrified. "Weas—I mean Ginny. I, er, didn't…I thought it was going to be Potter. Here, let me help you."

He reaches down to help me off the floor, but Harry chooses that moment to round the corner.

"Get the hell out of my house, Malfoy. Ginny! What happened to you?"

"She received your punch," Draco offered.

"You punched Ginny?" Harry's eyes narrow and I can tell that he is about ready to pounce on Draco.

"Harry, don't," I call out. "I'm fine. Or, at least I will be if someone will help me out with a healing spell or something."

"I'll take care of it," Draco says quietly. "I am sorry, Ginny, truly."

Harry looks…well, shell-shocked is the only phrase to really describe him. I, however, am less shocked. Draco's always been polite to me since we…well, you know. Dated and whatnot.

I catch sight of Harry's hand again and notice Draco's own face for the first time. His nose resembles my own.

"Harry James Potter," I say as I look back at Harry with as menacing glare as I can muster. Unfortunately, I doubt it was too menacing as when I tried to narrow my eyes and scrunch up my face I found that it was rather painful.

Harry only averts his eyes to the floor.

"You punched him," I continue. "You went to Draco's, hit him, and came back here. That's what happened to your hand. And judging by your hand…" I turn toward Draco, "Oh, your face just looks awful. I apologize on behalf of Harry; he was rather upset about something."

"So I gathered," Draco said dryly. "I thought since Potter apparated to the Manner, broke my nose, and left without a word that I would return the favor. Unfortunately, he allowed someone else to open the door, though. Good going, Potter. Should've known you wouldn't have been enough of a man to face me while I was prepared..."

"I had no idea that you would be so low to hit Ginny, Malfoy."

"As if I knew that she would be there."

"Stop. Just stop, the both of you. Harry, you shouldn't have hit Draco. Draco, don't attempt to provoke Harry." I look at Draco, "Can you…"

He looks at my nose. "Oh. Yes, of course." He takes out his wand. Draco always was good at healing spells…though he told me that I didn't want to know where or why he learned so many.

"Thanks," I say with a smile after he heals my nose. "You should do yours as well, you don't want it to scar."

"Oh, yes," Harry adds. "That would just be a disaster."

I glare at him. A full glare this time too, as my nose no longer stings quite so much. "Don't mind him" I say to Draco, "he appears to be jealous."

"As if I'd be jealous of Malfoy…" Harry mutters.

Draco smirks at him, "Don't worry, Potter. I can hardly blame you for your jealously. I mean, one of us is extremely good-looking, wealthy, and well-mannered. Jealously is a given."

"Surely you aren't talking about yourself, Malfoy. You're about as good-looking and well-mannered as a baboon."

"Could the both of you grow-up, please?"

"He started it," Draco mumbled. "I'm not the one that punched someone for no reason, you know."

I look to Harry once more. "Why did you go over there, anyway?"

"To, ah…avenge you."

"Avenge me?"

"Yeah."

"You do realize I'm not dead. Avenge what, precisely? My virginity?"

If possible, Draco's smirk grows. "So you finally figured out who possesses your precious Ginny's virginity, eh, Potter?"

"You were…but you and Dean…"

"Never did anything that serious. I told you already, Harry, it's in the past. Draco…just go. You aren't helping anything here, not that you ever do."

He shrugs. "Nice seeing you again, Gin. I would like to meet with you sometime soon, you know…without Scarhead."

I do not believe that he is attempting to hit on me with Harry standing right there. I know better than to think that Draco Malfoy is using this moment for anything other than to make Harry angry. I refuse to be his toy.

"I don't think so, Draco. I have a boyfriend, actually, and I doubt if he would very much like for us to be…anything. Isn't that right, Harry?"

"No," Harry says in a low tone, "I wouldn't."

"I see how it is, then," Draco says. "Finally nailed the Boy Wonder, did you Ginny?"

"Shut it, Draco."

"Congratulations are in order, then. It only took you half your life. So how'd you do it, Ginny? Seduce him? Strip tease, perhaps? Steal his inno—"

Draco never finished that sentence as his newly repaired face was once again smashed. This time, though, I didn't feel the need to reprimand Harry. I was about ready to punch Draco myself.

"Get out, Malfoy," Harry said fiercely as he pulled out his wand.

"Relax, Potter. Not like I have any desire to stay here anyway…" With that, Draco "popped" out and Harry and I were left alone.

"Ginny," Harry begins, "why did you come here?"

"I don't know."

"Oh. So what about Malfoy? I mean, what do you have to say about that?"

I shrug. "Ron's going to be sorry he missed the opportunity to slug Malfoy?"

Harry smiles slowly. "So it's 'Malfoy' then?"

"Yeah," I say with a realization, "I guess it is."

* * *

A/N—Like one more chapter, people! Then this story is done. Sorry this was a bit short. That just seemed like a good place to stop. Ginny's starting to come around, right?

Oh, and to one particular reader/reviewer (you know who you are)—do me a favor. If the story annoys you so much, don't read it. Really, you'll find life much easier. Seriously, you're going to give yourself heart problems if you allow fiction to get to you so. That's all.


	17. Meant to Be?

A/N—I officially _hate_ snow and ice. First of all, my county has been under a level three snow emergency. This means that you are not allowed to drive at all unless you are an emergency worker. So one of my friends and two of my brother's friends were all stuck here until recently…and we were all going stir crazy. As if this alone isn't bad enough, though, our electric has been out. Thank God for batteries in laptops, that's all I have to say…Anyway, so the electric is out so this means that it is sleeting very hard outside, we have no heat, and our basement is flooding. So we have to bail water. Life sucks. Okay, I'm done bitching.

Oh, and if you don't remember Ginny's dream of marriage with Harry, you might want to skim chapter eight. Otherwise, you could be a tad confused this chapter. That's all.

Unconventional Commitments

Chapter Seventeen  
Meant to Be?

I sit in bed and gaze at Harry wondrously. No way has this happened yet again. I mean, surely neither of us is this dense. And yet, here is Harry and here I am…in the same bed. Quite naked, might I add.

I didn't drink last night, though. I went home and went…to…sleep. I look around. This isn't my room. Why didn't I bloody notice this before? This is _that_ dream. The one with me and Harry married with kids. I breathe a sigh of relief. It's a dream, no big deal. An odd horrifying dream, to be sure, but I can handle it.

I almost pinch myself to wake up…but I kind of want to see how this panes out.

I "accidentally" nudge Harry and allow him to wake up. He gets up slowly (shock, no asleep to awake in three seconds deal) and gives me a smile. He kisses my cheek nicely and whispers, "Happy Christmas, darling."

I nearly laugh. It's Christmas in my dream—how cliché. Oh well. "Happy Christmas," I return.

"Shall we go downstairs? I am sure that Eric and Zack have already found their way to the gifts."

"Shall we dress first?" I ask teasingly. To which, I have shocked myself. Since when do I tease flirtingly? Shouldn't I be more freaked out by this?

He smiles wider. "Yes, I suppose we should." He bends down and presses a kiss to my stomach, which I just now notice is rounded out considerably. "Happy Christmas," he says to the bulge in my abdomen.

I feel my breathing hasten. I think I would like to wake up now…this is getting weird. When his back is turned I look away from the bare view of his behind—not that it is a bad view—and pinch myself. Only, I am still here.

Now I am beginning to panic. What if it isn't a dream? When you pinch yourself you wake up from a dream, right?

"Gin?" Harry looks back at me, still naked. "Are you all right? You look pale, honey."

"Fine," I hear myself breathe. "Just…got lightheaded all the sudden."

He nods in understanding. "You were like that in your first pregnancy too," he reminisces. "At least you aren't quite so sick this time, right?

I say nothing in return. Instead, I continue to pinch my arm. It hurts, too. I shouldn't feel pain in a dream, should I? But this can't be real. No way can I just wake up one day married, with two kids, and pregnant. That just doesn't happen.

Shit, I don't know what to do.

Harry has covered himself with a robe and is now holding a silk one out to me. "Shall we?" he says pleasantly.

I nod dumbly and slide on the robe. He reaches his arms around me and ties the robe as if I cannot do this task myself. His hand lingers on my stomach for a moment before he lowers his embrace and leads me out the door.

I gaze around the house in wonder. This is…nice. In fact, it is exactly how I would decorate a house if I were given an unlimited budget to do so.

It's a dream, I tell myself, so of course it how you would want your dream house. I keep reassuring myself that it is only a dream as it calms me somewhat.

Finally, we stop in a pleasant looking sitting room. The sun is coming in the window just right and the tree in the center is gorgeous. The two boys sitting anxiously in front of the tree, though, are even more gorgeous.

I recognize them from the first dream I had…they are miniature Harrys, really. They are just too cute. I smile at them, much more pleased to see them when they aren't jumping on me.

"Mummy," one says excitedly, "Daddy, look!"

"Father Christmas came," the other exclaims.

"He sure did," Harry says as he sits down next to them on the floor. He pulls me down with him and sit by his side, but still in his arms.

"Can we open them now," a boy says as he looks pleadingly up to Harry and me.

"All right," Harry relents with a laugh, "go ahead."

They greedily tear into the gifts, getting more excited with each that they open. To my own surprise, I am perfectly content to sit and watch them. In fact, I even feel happy just to see their happiness. Normally I get bored with watching people open gifts. I start to drift off after a few minutes.

They get to identical boxes and open them simultaneously. "Robes," one says.

"Wow," the other adds dispassionately, "neat." They quickly throw the new robes aside and search around for "real" presents—toys. Harry smiles down at me and I quickly gather up the expensive looking robes and fold them neatly, placing them aside.

The boys finally appear to be done. For a moment they just sit back and stare contently at their mounds of gifts.

"Just a minute, boys," Harry says, "I think you forgot something."

Their eyes immediately widen with interest.

"I think they got everything," I say with confusion. There isn't a single gift left under that tree.

Harry winks at me before standing. "Well, I think these gifts might be somewhere else. You'll have to excuse Father Christmas, boys, your mum and I bought these."

They follow him to a closet in the hallway and I stand a few feet behind them. Harry opens the door and triumphantly pulls out two badly wrapped gifts. Before the boys even touch the wrapping paper, I know what resides underneath.

I feel my eyebrows shoot up without my consent. Why should I care, right? It's just a dream…

Harry grins sheepishly at me as the two little boys reveal their brand new brooms. They both appear to actually be speechless.

They recover after a moment, though, and both leap on Harry shouting their praise. As soon as they have thanked him, they each grab their broom and tear off into what I assume to be the backyard.

"Sorry to keep it from you," Harry says with an innocent look on his face, "but I knew you'd object."

"Did I say anything?"

He laughs and hugs me, "I know that look. The boys will fine, though. The brooms are charmed to not go above fifteen feet."

"They can still die at fifteen feet, you know. There are children's brooms for a reason, Harry Potter. You bought them full brooms…you know they aren't old enough."

"They are," he argues. "They are very responsible. I will be monitoring them every time they fly, anyway."

"You aren't monitoring them now," I point out.

He grimaces at his mistake and quickly grabs my hand and leads me into the backyard. "It'll be fine, Gin. They are great fliers." A look of extreme pride flashes across his face as he spots the boys zooming around the large yard.

I have to smile. It is just so obvious how much he loves them and how happy having a family makes him…And I actually feel happy too. This whole weird morning was nice, really. I could see loving those little boys; it'd be easy, really. And Harry has been—

Black spots appear in front of my eyes and I feel dizzy all of the sudden.

"Gin?!" Harry's voice is concerned, but I can barely make out what he is saying.

The world seems to be fading farther away and soon it is only blackness…

I sit up abruptly and find myself back in my room. I clutch the sheets that surround me. It was a dream. I mean, I knew it was but…it all just felt so real. And you shouldn't be so aware of yourself in dreams, should you?

Something is off about all this. I need to talk to someone. I just don't know who. I mean, this really worries me. Someone may have put a spell on me or something. I dress mutely and decide to go visit my mother. She always knows about these sorts of things for some reason.

I apparate over to the Burrow decisively and look around for Mum. I really hope she is here…For once I desperately want to see my mother. Shocking, right?

"Mum," I call out, "are you here?"

"Ginny?" she answers. She walks out of the kitchen. "Is something wrong, Ginny?"

"No," I say quietly. "I just wanted to see you."

"Oh. How nice," she responds with a smile.

I nod and we sit in the living room. "How is your hand, dear?" she asks.

I look at it dumbly. "Its fine, Mum."

We sit silently for a few minutes before I decide that I should just get on with it. "Hey, Mum…" I begin awkwardly.

"Yes, dear?"

"Have you ever…" just spit it out, I decide. "Have you ever had any dreams that you are fully aware of everything? Like, it seems like you're visiting the future, or something. And even though you know it's a dream and try to wake yourself up you can't." I look at her desperately, "Am I making any sense at all?"

"Oh, yes," she says seriously. "You are making perfect sense to me, Ginny. I remember when I had my first dream like that, it scared me senseless. It was right after I fell in love with your father. I dreamed of you, actually."

"Me?"

"Yes. I woke up in bed with your father and we went downstairs—with me thoroughly confused, might I add. And there you were, this perfect little girl sitting in the kitchen. You had made an absolute mess, and your father was just laughing. I didn't know who you were or what was going on, but I still reprimanded you for making such a disaster of the kitchen. You started crying and explained to us that you wanted to make breakfast for everyone…it obviously didn't work out for you, dear. So I cleaned you up and your father and I helped you make breakfast."

I look at her in confusion. "But didn't that actually happen?"

She smiles back at me, "Many years after I had that dream it did. I talked with my mother about it, actually. She explained to me that witches often have dreams like that when they fall in love with the man they are meant to marry. Dreams of their future, she called them. That's one of the reasons I kept pressing your father for more children," she says happily, "because I just knew that my adorable little girl would come along eventually. When I was pregnant with you, I knew that you were her. Everyone thought me mad, for there had not been a girl born into the Weasley clan for many, many generations. But I knew that you would be my little girl, Ginny Bean. And you were."

"How come you never told me that before?"

"Oh, I don't know. I suppose I thought it wouldn't interest you. Why do you ask anyhow, dear?"

I panic. I don't want her to know about my dream…I haven't even decided what it means yet. "Umm…Hermione had one," I mumble pathetically. "She was telling me about it."

She clasps her hands together in delight, "How wonderful! I always knew that Hermione and Ron were meant to be together, of course, but this just makes it definite. What a great wedding gift that is for her, to know a piece of her future happiness."

"Yeah," I respond numbly, "how wonderful. I think I should be going, Mum. I have work."

"Yes, of course. Don't forget that we are having a dinner this weekend, Ginny."

"I won't," I say quietly. "Bye, Mum." I disapparate back into my bedroom and sink into the mattress feeling ill.

That was a glimpse into my future? I marry Harry? We have twins? I don't know how I feel about all this. All I know is in my dream it just felt…right somehow.

I feel tears spring to my eyes; I am just so confused right now.

I hear a sudden knock on my bedroom door and I quickly wipe the tears away.

"Ginny?" I hear Hermione call through the wood, "Are you in there?"

"Yeah," I respond, "come on in, Hermione."

She opens the door and looks as though she has been doing some crying of her own this morning. "Do you have a few minutes?" she asks. "I really need to talk to you about something."

I pad the spot next to me on the bed, "Of course."

She walks in and sits down.

"What's wrong?" I ask.

"This entire wedding," she says as her eyes fill with tears.

"Oh, Hermione," I say sympathetically as I wrap my arms around her and pat her back.

"I just can't take it anymore," she cries. "My mum is pressuring me to have a muggle wedding, but your mum won't accept the idea of anything other than a traditional wizard wedding. And it's just this endless fight and," she begins hyperventilating almost, "and I just can't take it!"

I'm really not sure what to tell her. So I just hug her reassuringly and attempt to be soothing. I should have known she'd have this problem…I just haven't thought about her wedding to be honest. Now I feel like a horrible friend.

"What do you want, though?" I ask her finally.

"I just want to marry Ron. But no matter what I do…I'm going to have people angry with me. And I just…" she breaks off as she sobs.

I bite my lip and hope Mum won't kill me for planting the idea in Hermione's head. "So marry Ron, then."

"But I don't know how. We can't have two weddings."

"Just marry him. Elope."

She pulls back and looks utterly shocked. "Elope," she repeats slowly. "We…I suppose we could, couldn't we?"

"Of course you could. They'd forgive you for not inviting them to your wedding after a little while. It's your wedding, Hermione. If you want to marry Ron, then marry him now. If that makes you happy, then do it."

Her tears stop. "You're brilliant, Ginny. I wouldn't have to plan the wedding. We could just be married…I have to find Ron!"

I smile encouragingly at her, "Go find him, then."

She starts laughing hysterically, "It's just that simple, isn't it? We can just get married."

I nod and she apparates without another word. I only hope Ron will feel as favorably about it as she does. I have a feeling that he will, though. Ron's impulsive, he should love the idea.

I lay back in the bed and attempt to clear my head. I don't want to think about anything for a while. It's driving me nuts, all this thinking. I just need to be at peace for a few minutes…

I close my eyes for no more than five minutes and Hermione is back in my room. She looks ecstatic.

"Ron agreed?" I ask needlessly.

"Yes, he loved it! We want you and Harry there, though. As witnesses and just because you are our best friends. How soon can you be ready?"

"An hour?"

"Okay. Okay, so in an hour we'll all go to the proper office of the Ministry and Ron and I will get married." She looks overwhelmed for a moment, "Oh my. An hour. I'm getting married in an hour. I need to get ready." She sprints across the hall and slams her door shut.

I smile and stand. So I guess I won't go back to sleep then.

* * *

A/N—So this isn't the last chapter. Lol, this was just getting long and I have so much left…so I thought I'd just end it here. But don't worry, I have a lot more written and I _will_ finish and post it tomorrow. Not that any of you are actually worrying, lol, more like I was worrying about making my update time…and never mind. I'll just stop now because I'm sleep deprived. Merry Christmas! I'll be posting tomorrow afternoon after I finish family stuff. Review please…lol, I've had a shitty couple of days. No heat makes me cranky. Oh, and if anyone cares, I've revised this entire story. So it's new and improved or something like that. Lol.

Oh, and to **Jessie McDonald**, since I don't know your e-mail I thought I'd just mention it here. I used your idea in chapter fifteen when Harry and Ginny were doing role playing. I hope that's okay. If not, let me know and I'll take it out. Lol, but I've had that happen to me on a date, too, and I just had to throw it in. So thanks and great idea! And while I already had the Draco/Harry confrontation planned in my mind, good guess on that being in the next chapter, lol.


	18. An Unconventional Wedding

Unconventional Commitments

Chapter Eighteen  
An Unconventional Wedding

Getting two women ready for a wedding in an hour is no easy task, let me tell you. Hermione literally went crazy for about twenty minutes. But I'm ready, and she looks absolutely beautiful, so it all worked out, I suppose.

Okay, and so maybe it took closer to two hours…but that is really to be expected. I finish the last charm on Hermione's hair as she flashes me a nervous glance.

"Won't the Ministry fine you for using magic in a highly populated muggle area?"

I shrug. "It's your wedding day. What do I care if I get a few fines?"

She gives me a grateful look and doesn't say anything else.

"Well, I think you're ready," I say as I nitpick at her hair.

She stands and adjusts her dress robes. "Am I?"

I know that she means that in two ways, so I smile and answer both of her questions with, "Yes. You are gorgeous and you are ready to be married."

"We don't have a place to live," she says suddenly. "We were house hunting but we got in an argument over muggle neighborhoods and wizarding neighborhoods and we stopped. Where are we going to live, Ginny?"

"You can either live at Ron's apartment or here. You have time, Hermione. You can be married and not have a house."

"Right," she says. "We could live at Ron's flat for a while."

I flinch slightly at her choice. I'm going to miss her half of the rent money. Oh well. I'll manage. Maybe I'll move, actually. I don't really like muggle living, anyway…I'll think about it later.

She's pacing again. I quickly grab her shoulder to halt her. "You are going to wrinkle your robes," I reason.

She nods. For being the smartest person I have ever known…she has been acting rather silly for the past few hours. Not that I blame her, of course, it is just nice to see Hermione less than brilliant every once in a while.

"We should go over to Ron's," she says after a moment. "I told him we would meet him there when we were ready to…you know."

I smile at her. "Let's go, then."

I wait for her to apparate before me, only she doesn't. "Hermione," I say, "are we leaving?"

"I don't think I can. What if it doesn't work out? My mother isn't here…Oh, God. She is going to _slaughter_ me when she finds out. And my dad won't be there to walk me down the aisle…there isn't even going to be an aisle!"

I see that she is about to start hyperventilating again, so I race out of the room and grab the only thing that I can think of. I run back into her bedroom and hand her the bottle of Firewhiskey that I had hidden in the kitchen cabinet.

She takes it awkwardly and stares at the bottle.

"Take a drink," I say almost desperately. "It'll calm your nerves."

She takes a breath and then takes a giant drink out of the bottle. I didn't mean for her to chug it! I flinch as she drinks more and more of it. I finally grab the bottle back from her.

She smiles at me sheepishly as I raise an eyebrow at her. "I didn't mean for you to drink that much of it. I wanted you to calm your nerves, not be pissed drunk for your wedding!"

"It's fine," she assures me. "I don't even feel anything. I just need to sit down for a moment."

She sits as I resist the urge to pace myself. She can't be bloody drunk…Ron will kill me! I look over at her. She doesn't look drunk. Maybe she is fine. I keep telling myself that she is fine and about ten minutes passes as I wait for any sign that she will continue to be fine for the rest of the day.

"I don't feel funny at all," she announces.

"That's good," I whisper.

She stands suddenly…and promptly falls down. She laughs while on the floor, "Whoops," she exclaims.

I smack a hand to my forehead. Okay, so maybe it did affect her. I pull her off the floor as she continues to laugh. "Hermione," I say in a panicked tone, "you cannot be drunk right now."

"I'm not drunk," she says. "I'm just…calm." She starts to laugh again. She suddenly leans closely to me and lowers her voice, "If I tell you a secret, promise not to tell anyone?"

"I promise," I say reluctantly.

"I can't hold alcohol very well," she says into my ear.

"No kidding," I respond.

"Ginny," she says as she falls back onto her bed, "I do believe I am slightly drunk."

Slightly? She didn't have that much Firewhiskey, did she? I look at the half empty bottle. Did she really drink that much of it? Oh my. She is going to hate me for ruining her wedding. I really thought it might help her…but she was only supposed to take a _small_ drink, she wasn't supposed to down half the bottle!

"Let's go," she says as she stands. "I am ready to marry….whatshisface."

"Ron," I correct with a cringe.

"Right. Ron. I love…Ron. Yep. Love him, love him. I had a dream about Ron, you know. Waaaaay back in fourth year. Dreamed that we were married and we had a baby. A boy. And I've loved him ever since."

Even though I am fairly panicked at the moment….I have to admit, I rather like drunken Hermione. I wonder why I didn't think to get her drunk a while ago.

I wonder if her dream was like mine, though. I bet so. At least I can feel a little better now. She had a dream, too. So it must be normal. You dream of your future with the man….you're….meant…to…marry. Oh my.

I'm meant to marry Harry?

I mean, I knew from my conversation with my mother that that is what the dream is supposed to mean. But it just never clicked until right now. That's what it means? That Harry and I are supposed to be together, forever?

I didn't think I was meant to be with anyone forever. I sit back down on Hermione's bed. That was the future. That was _my_ future. My future with Harry. We have twins. We have a third baby, too. I feel dizzy.

So it's irreversible, right? I don't know. I mean, is the future set in stone? Can it be changed? Do I want it to be changed?

"Ginny," Hermione is saying with impatience. "C'mon. Let's go."

"Right," I say after a moment. "Time for you to get married."

"Yep," she responds happily. "To…"

"Ron."

"Ron. I knew that. I did."

I nod at her complacently, "I'm sure you did."

"I'm going now," she says.

She apparates before I can remember that it isn't a good thing to apparate drunk. "Shit!" I yell aloud before apparating myself to Ron's flat in hopes that she made it there in one piece.

I look around immediately after arriving. Thank God she is sitting on his couch. I place a hand over my fast beating heart—I wouldn't have been able to live with myself if she had splinched herself trying to get here.

"Ginny," I look over and see Harry staring at me intently. "I am so glad you are here."

I smile at him, "And why is that?"

He leans over and whispers in my ear, "Because Ron is halfway drunk."

"Hermione _is_ drunk," I respond back into his ear.

Harry starts to laugh. "Some Best Man and Maid of Honor we are…couldn't even keep the bride and groom sober for the wedding."

"Harry, it isn't funny. What are we going to do?"

He waves a flippant hand, "I have it covered." I follow him into Ron's kitchen as he starts pulling various items out of cupboards. "I know a sobriety potion. Siri—" he stops short. No one really mentions Sirius around Harry…after he died, Harry always took it so badly whenever his name was brought up, that everyone just stopped. I don't think he's even said Sirius' name aloud more than a handful of times. Downright unhealthy, if you ask me…but everyone mourns in their own way, I suppose.

I place a hand on his shoulder for comfort.

He takes a breath. "Sirius gave me the recipe for it before…you know."

I nod at him. "So you have it memorized, then? Used it quite a bit, have we, Harry?"

He grins, grateful for the slight subject change. "A few times, I admit."

I stare at him as he brews, "And here I thought you were bad at Potions."

"I'm only good at the important ones," he laughs.

I smile back at him as he adds more ingredients into the pot. "There we go," he says triumphantly. "That just needs to simmer a bit and we will have a very sober Ron and Hermione."

"Good. I doubt Hermione would ever forgive me if she were too intoxicated to remember her own wedding."

He nods. "It should just be a few more minutes. So…how are you?"

I bite my lip. What am I supposed to tell him? _Well, Harry, it turns out that I have dreamed of our future not once, but twice. And we have two point five kids and live in a really nice house. Weird, huh?_ Right, because that conversation wouldn't be awkward at all.

"I'm fine," I say finally. "How are you?"

He shrugs. "Good. But I did want to talk to you…after the whole ceremony, that is."

"All right."

"Potion's done," he says to break the silence. He produces two glasses and puts a fair amount of the thick green concoction in each. He hands me a glass, "You find a way to get Hermione to drink this and I'll get Ron."

I take the glass and go back into Ron's living room. Hermione is now on the floor, sitting and staring at the wall.

"That wall is ugly," she says to me without looking.

I take a breath and hope for the best. "Here," I say as I hold the glass out to her. "Drink this."

"What is it?"

"It's good. Just drink it fast."

"Is it alcohol?"

"Maybe. Just drink it."

She shrugs and takes a large gulp of the drink, before promptly coughing loudly and pounding her chest dramatically. "What _is_ that?"

"Trust me; you probably don't want to know. How do you feel?" God, I hope she is sober. Please be sober…please.

"Fine," she says after the potion settles in for a moment.

"Hermione, I—"

"What in the _bloody hell_ are you trying to do, Harry?! Kill me?" We both stare down the hallway where Ron's yell came from.

Hermione blushes as she looks back at me, "Sobriety potion, correct?"

"Yes. Harry made it."

She nods. "So Ron was…"

"Yeah, it seems that way."

"Some couple we make," she muses.

"You were both nervous. It's understandable, you know. It all happened suddenly, this wedding, of course you would get jittery…but you're both fine now, so no harm no foul, right?"

She opens her mouth to respond, but we both fall silent as Harry appears in the living room—his face covered in his own potion.

"So I take it Ron didn't drink the entire glass?" I ask with a sweet smile.

He scowls and heads for the bathroom.

* * *

After I make sure everyone is cleaned up, we apparate to the Ministry. It dawns on me suddenly that I am the one that was running about Ron's flat, cleaning off faces and straightening out robes…

I am turning into my mother. Great. Memo to self: do something highly irresponsible tonight to even all this out.

I shake away my thoughts as I notice that everyone is staring expectantly at me. I look down at the floor sheepishly, "Uh, did you say something?" I ask Harry and Hermione. Ron has temporarily disappeared.

"Harry asked if you knew who was performing the ceremony," Hermione says helpfully.

"Oh. No, I don't know."

"Neither do we," Harry says. "Ron just told us that he took care of it."

I can see Hermione paling at the thought of Ron scrounging up just anyone to perform the ceremony. No doubt she has some horrid mental pictures going on at the moment…

"I'm sure he found someone suitable," I tell her reassuringly. At least, I hope he found someone suitable. For his sake, really, the whole thing could turn into a disaster with some low Ministry official stumbling through the ceremony and ruining it.

Ron comes back into the room, appearing frazzled. "He's here," he says with a smile. "We can start in a few minutes."

"And who is 'he'?" Hermione asks with pursed lips.

"Oh, just someone I persuaded at the last minute," Ron responds vaguely.

I cringe. This could be bad. I lean over to Hermione and whisper into her ear, "It's okay, Hermione. Just as long as you're married, right? That's all that matters."

She nods. "I know. It will work out, I'm sure."

I smile encouragingly at her as the door opens…and Dumbledore walks in. My jaw drops in shock and I sneak a glace at Ron, who is smiling like the Cheshire Cat.

"Headmaster," Hermione says finally, "What a pleasure to see you."

Dumbledore winks at her, "I do believe you are old enough to call me 'Albus' Miss Granger."

"Of course," Hermione says. "Are you…" she seems to be afraid to say the words, lest they prove untrue.

"Here to perform the marriage vows? Yes, when Mister Weasley asked me, I simply could not resist the opportunity to marry two former students. It will truly be my pleasure. So, shall we begin, then?"

With no protest, the ceremony begins.

I try to pay attention, I really do…but Harry keeps looking at me. So throughout the ceremony I find myself looking back at Harry. As Hermione and Ron say their vows our eyes lock, and Harry smiles at me and…Well, it gets really hot all the sudden, is all that I can say.

And for a minute, I don't even see Ron and Hermione. All I see is Harry and I hear Dumbledore going through the rituals and…I don't panic. And that kind of freaks me out in itself. I should freak out, right? Because Harry is looking as though he is picturing our wedding in his mind right now. Only…I don't.

I break our gaze and look back at Ron and Hermione. I smile pleasantly at them as the ceremony finishes and Harry and I clap politely along with Dumbledore.

Hermione places her hand over her mouth as she starts to laugh in sheer happiness and Ron picks her up and spins her around once before setting her down on her feet and kissing her. He gently wipes away the tears glistening in her eyes and I am so drawn to the scene that I fail to notice that Harry has moved closer to me.

I jump as his hand comes to rest on my shoulder. I look over to him, though, and calm myself. After all, it's only Harry…

Dumbledore moves away from the happy couple and comes to stand with Harry and me. "You know, Harry," he says, "I married your parents as well."

"I never knew that," Harry responds with a smile.

Dumbledore gives him a knowingly look before glancing over at me as well. "And I am sure that I shall perform your wedding ceremony one day?"

"Uh, yeah, sure," Harry says uneasily.

"Well, if you will excuse me for a minute," Dumbledore says before heading back over to Ron and Hermione.

Harry and I are left to awkwardly stare at each other. "So," I say finally, "Ron and Hermione really did it, then."

"Yeah, looks that way. Look, Ginny—"

I hold up my hand, "No, let me. Please. Harry, I just…I'm sorry. For all that I've put you through. I know that I'm not easy to get along with, I know this. I know that in relationships I'm a royal screw up…but you've just withstood every possible thing that could ever go wrong it seems like and I just wanted to say…thank you."

"Oh. Well, you're welcome. Do you want to…go outside for a minute?"

I glance back at Ron and Hermione, they won't miss us. "All right, sure."

We walk out to the lobby of the Ministry and stand in front of the fountain. I turn to ask Harry if he wants to make a wish, but before I can even get a word out, his mouth is covering mine.

My eyes widen but I do not pull away. I wrap my arms around his neck without thinking and he deepens the kiss. He lifts his mouth from mine but keeps his face close. His arms are still wrapped possessively around my waist…but I barely even notice.

"I just didn't want to do that in there," he says quietly.

"Oh." I respond dumbly.

"Did you mean what you said the other night to Malfoy?"

"Which part?"

"The part where you referred to me as your boyfriend," he clarifies.

I lick my lips unconsciously. I had almost forgotten about that. "Yes," I say softly, "I do believe that I did."

"And your commitment phobia?"

I smile up at him, "How about we just wait and see what the future brings?"

Harry grins in agreement and leans down to kiss me once more. Visions of Eric and Zack float around in my mind, along with thoughts of a future marriage with Harry. And for once…I don't feel so afraid.

* * *

A/N—Well, that's it. Lol, I'm seriously biting my nails right now…I hope that all made sense and worked. Thank you so, so, so much to anyone who ever reviewed. I truly appreciate it and all your stories and insights have been delightful, really. Lol, I now know for a fact that I am not alone in my own commitment phobia.

So, Merry Christmas everyone and I really hope that you have enjoyed this story. Review and let me know what you thought of the last chapter but try not to be too brutal, lol…after all, it's Christmas. Ha-ha. Goodnight, all! And I finished this with a whole forty-five minutes left on my deadline…nothing like procrastination. Thanks for reading!


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